


Pour Some (Maple) Sugar On Me

by abbynormalj, Fool of a Book Wyrm (Lafeli85)



Series: Exchanges & Gifts [5]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, AtLA, Bat Baz!, Baz is a beer snob, Baz is an Italian Studies Major, Beer League Hockey, Bisexual Simon Snow, Blow Jobs, Do they go to McGill??, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Heavy Drinking, Holo Taco, It's more likely than you think!, Lapdance, M/M, MTL PRIDE, Maple, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Questions about the shape of MARYLAND, SO MUCH RESEARCH went into writing this, Simon Snow is Gay for Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon is a STRIPPER, Simon is getting his MSW, So many lapdances, So much grinding, Texting is cute as heck, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, background DeNiall, baz is a nerd, butter people statue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbynormalj/pseuds/abbynormalj, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafeli85/pseuds/Fool%20of%20a%20Book%20Wyrm
Summary: Italian Renaissance studies should be Baz’s favorite class. And it probably would be if he didn’t have to constantly correct Simon Snow, the hot-but-dumb TA that runs the Wednesday discussion seminar. It’s fine, though. He’s fine. Baz has dealt with the classic queer-hopeless-pining thing before.But when Snow shows up to Dev and Niall’s bachelor party in purple glittery tearaways, Baz is one lapdance away from losing his cool.~*~*~*~*~*~*Based on: Meet Ugly- I hire you to be the stripper at my friend’s bachelor party and you’re the TA for my favorite class.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Exchanges & Gifts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077686
Comments: 73
Kudos: 240





	1. The Hôtel Place d'Armes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BazzyBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazzyBelle/gifts).



> Belle. Bazzy. Our love 🧡💜. **_Happy Birthday!!_** You made one little meet ugly request. And then we took it and ran wild. Because we love you and think you’re amazing and deserving and we wanted to give you all the things. So enjoy this Montreal-filled Snowbaz fest full of all things... well, _you_.
> 
> To anyone else reading. We love you too! Enjoy the BazzyBellefest! There’s probably something in here for everyone.
> 
> **We have a playlist for all of the stripper music and a couple bonus tracks that you'll find featured throughout the entire fic! Give it a listen!**  
> [Amazon Music](https://music.amazon.com/user-playlists/b2b0b23bf3bc4b358ab1c9185d2a4862sune?ref=dm_sh_84a8-2a80-dmcp-ded9-84784&musicTerritory=US&marketplaceId=ATVPDKIKX0DER)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3320mfh8fehPq1GQoyBvuS?si=-NgzkZFrQzuDO-otnmnYpw)
> 
> Thank you to [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix) and [tbazzsnow (Artescapri)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow) for being amazing beta readers. [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix) for spot checking our MTL and French references, and answering so many (SO SO MANY) questions. [Llamapyjamas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shushu_yaoi_lj/pseuds/shushu_yaoi_lj) for the Italian translations throughout. And [imhellakitty](https://imhellakitty.tumblr.com/) for always being our _alpha_ reader and cheerleader. 🧡💜
> 
> All artwork throughout courtesy of the amazing [AbbyNormalJ (aka HufflePunky)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbynormalj/pseuds/abbynormalj)!!

**BAZ**

“And you definitely got a stripper for the bachelor party?” Dev asks me from the back seat of the Jag for what is probably the fifth time today. He is nothing if not insistent—I don’t know how Niall puts up with him. 

“Yes, of course,” I glance up at him in the rearview mirror. “What kind of Best Man do you think I am?”

“The modest kind?” He rolls his eyes at me. My cousin is an idiot. 

After a beat of silence, he continues talking, “Well, what did you request from the agency?”

“I wasn’t too specific. You said you didn’t care as long as he was good looking and around our age. I asked for a gay or bi man, around twenty to twenty-five, blue eyes—for Niall, _épais_ —and broad shoulders—for you. You’re welcome.”

I pull up to Hôtel Place d'Armes, the hotel in Old Montreal where the Grimm family has a penthouse suite on retainer for hosting events and visiting family. Everything about the room is perfect for our needs: a fully stocked bar, large entertaining room to be used for dancing, and a separate bedroom for when we need to kick Dev and Niall out when they can’t keep their hands off each other. 

I am behind the bar now, mixing drinks for Dev and Niall when there is a knock on the door of the suite. Thank God, I hope it’s the stripper. He’s fifteen minutes late, and Dev hasn’t left me alone about it. 

Gareth opens the door for me so I can finish with Dev’s drink. When I come out from behind the door to greet the stripper, I stop dead in my tracks.

It can’t be. 

I blink. Once. Twice. 

Bronze curls. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders.

_Tabarnak._

“He’s hot,” I jump at Niall’s voice. He must have snuck up behind me in the middle of my personal crisis. 

“No. Well, maybe a little.” I don’t know what to say to this. How did this happen?

“Why are you so jumpy, Baz?” 

“The stripper—he’s uhh,” I’m stumbling over my words. _Get yourself together, Pitch._ I take a drink of my beer, “The stripper is the idiot TA that runs the discussion seminars for my Italian Renaissance class.”

“You mean, the hot TA that you can’t stop talking about and you very obviously want to hook up with?” He smirks at me. 

“I mean _l'esti de cave_ who clearly doesn’t know anything about the Renaissance, and whom I have to constantly correct. I don’t even know how he got a TA position.”

“You mean,” he clarifies because he can’t just let things be, “the hot TA that you’re mildly obsessed with, and are now having a crisis because he’s our stripper and you’re about to see everything you’ve been fantasizing about during your classes.”

“Niall, I can’t. He may be an idiot, but he still has influence with the Professor to have me failed. Or possibly even expelled for sexual harassment if he knew what I was thinking about.”

“Well, he can’t use tonight as harassment. I’m sure the University would frown on a TA being a stripper as a side job. So try talking to him, when he’s not flaunting his piece in Dev’s face.”

“Yeah, alright.” I’ve had a few drinks, and just looking at Simon Snow makes me weak. (That’s his name. What kind of surname is Snow, anyway?) 

Niall is right, though. I have been obsessed with him all semester. I have an irresistible urge to correct him when he’s wrong (which is all the time) but I can’t deny that he runs a better seminar than Mathieu, the other TA. 

I went once to Mathieu’s seminar when I missed Snow’s and he was so insufferably up himself. He lectured us the whole time as if we’d missed Professor Bunce’s lecture the day before. Snow at least fosters effective discussion, even if he can’t answer questions accurately. I go to the lecture to hear a professor speak on a subject they’re an expert in, which Professor Bunce clearly is. The discussion isn’t meant to be a rehash of the lecture by a less-qualified fool, it’s meant to be a place to process ideas and ask questions. 

If Mathieu hadn’t been so dreadful, I would never have gone back to Snow’s class again. Unfortunately, it seemed I was doomed to endure his stumbling mistakes. I was more than capable of correcting him when necessary. What was more dangerous was making sure not to leer at him constantly. How could I help myself? He was just my type, with his golden curls and moles and that _jawline._ (Not to mention his glorious shoulder-to-waist ratio, and his forearms, and all of his other... _assets_.)

This may be my only chance to really get to talk to Snow outside of a school setting. And do I _ever_ want to talk to him. (And that glorious shoulder-to-waist ratio.)(I should maybe slow down on the drinks.)

I approach him, reminding myself that this is _my_ party I’m hosting and _he’s_ the one who showed up to strip. He has no room to judge me for that. I’m struck, suddenly, by the thought that Snow must be gay or bi. I did specify that when I contacted the agency. Something shifts in me. Snow isn’t just some beautiful idiot boy. He’s a beautiful idiot boy who _likes men_.

He was chatting with Gareth while waiting for me to come greet him. Not me, in particular. But the host, the one who would be paying him and who he would need to have an NDA or whatever kind of protection contracts a stripper might need to have signed. He is smiling brightly as he talks, and my insides twist just a little. He’s so beautiful like this. 

“Snow,” I greet him. His face slackens and I could swear the colour from his face drains away. Is it because of how I know him, or does he really hate me that much? I know I’m rude to him in class when he tries to help other students and mucks up the facts. 

“Uh, h— hullo, Baz,” he’s stuttering over his words, not much different than how I was stumbling over mine a few minutes ago. I try not to let it bother me. 

“I take it you’re the dancer the agency sent over for us.”

“I– I didn’t know the uhh–”

 _Crisse_ , he blusters beautifully. I shouldn’t find it as attractive as I do. But his inability to form a complete thought, mixed with the beautiful blush that is creeping up his cheeks and ears is doing something to my insides. 

“I certainly hope you’re better at this job than you are at being a TA.”

Snow grunts and juts out his jaw. “I am. And I usually enjoy this job more.” He looks like he wants to punch me. The thought of Snow punching me _and_ enjoying being a stripper should not be nearly as enticing as it is. 

“Well, come on.” I start walking away talking without checking to make sure he’s following. There is no way I’m going to show an ounce of what I’m feeling right now. That I really want nothing more than to watch him strip out of the ridiculous outfit he has on right now. 

I lead him to the center of the main entertaining room, where the boys have already set up a horseshoe of chairs around the two head chairs where Dev and Niall are seated. 

Snow sets his bag down near the wall, taking out his speakers to set up. After a few minutes he has his phone synced to the stereo system and begins his dance routine. 

He’s dressed in black trousers that hug his curves in the most appealing way and a tight white button down, with a purple tuxedo vest and purple bowtie. I wonder how much of this ensemble is tearaway. 

The first song queued up is “Pony”. I can’t believe how incredibly cliche this whole thing is. I didn’t realise we were getting a live showing of _Magic Mike_. 

He starts the dance on the opposite end of the circle from Dev and Niall. Dev is grinning like an idiot. The way Snow is capable of moving his entire body is captivating, I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away even if I wanted to. He has a way of drawing the entire room in. 

By the time he has crossed half the distance of the floor, his shirt has been torn away leaving only the vest and tie on his upper body. I always knew he was extremely attractive, but seeing him like this leaves me thunderstruck. 

I turn back to the bar to get myself another beer. (I stocked up on Le Grimoire, and am thankful for my foresight.) There is no way I’m going to survive this night without a little extra courage. 

I glance back over to the show to the sight of Snow tearing off his trousers a foot from the boys, revealing his glorious strong thighs and ass. Nothing is left to the imagination, with nothing more than shimmering purple trunks covering his shapely _assets._

_Câlisse de sacrament!_

With his next move, Snow is performing some sort of full body roll straddled over Dev, his hands braced against the back of Dev’s chair. Dev’s hands find their way to Snow’s waist before he’s twisting away, fluidly transitioning to straddle Niall with his ass inches from Niall’s face. 

Snow looks up and meets my eyes where I’m standing and smiles. 

I can’t hold his gaze. Those plain blue eyes are too much in this lighting. I can’t just watch him do things like that. I have to leave. 

I turn back to the bar, grab another Desérables (my favorite beer, it tastes like maple taffy) and make my way out to the terrasse for some air. And space. Thankfully there are heat lamps up here. Otherwise, I would never be outdoors in March.

The view of the city and across the river is unparalleled. 

The Biosphere is impossible not to look at from here, but I feel as if it’s mocking me. What little I can see of it is glowing purple and gaudy on the water, meaning to remind us of hope for the future, but all I can think of is Simon Snow’s perfect round ass in the same sparkling shade. If I get a little turned on by the stupid fucking glass sphere, I blame Simon Snow’s stupid fucking bubble butt in purple fucking trunks. _Câlisse._

My thoughts are scattered by the sound of the sliding door opening. Simon Snow himself, the man of the hour, steps out clad only in his trunks and an embroidered dark robe. I didn’t think strippers were supposed to put clothes back on, but I guess he must be taking a break. (And, to be fair, it is below freezing, despite the heat lamps.) All he has with him is his water bottle and he’s covered in sweat. How does he still smell so good?

I can’t find words to say to him yet, so I offer a sneer and turn back to the view. 

He doesn’t _leave_ though. He sidles up beside me, leaning his forearms (his _fucking gorgeous forearms_ ) on the railing and turns his head toward me. I’m already looking back at him. Because I’m weak. And drunk. Also because of his aforementioned gorgeous forearms.

“What is it, Snow?” In my drunken state, the question comes out more curious than threatening.

He smiles. The idiot _smiles_ at me. 

“The view from here is beautiful.” It’s a generic comment, really. The view of the St. Lawrence is spectacular. It’s such a clear and calm night, it almost feels magical. But something about the way his eyes meet mine, I almost want to believe he means more than just the scenery beyond this balcony. 

“Indeed.” I take another swig of my beer. What do I say to this man, who I’ve been lusting after for months despite knowing there was no way I could ever be more than another pain in his ass. 

“So, this is awkward,” he says. I laugh, I can’t help it. (I’m sure the amount of beer I’ve consumed isn’t helping either.) “Tell me, Baz. Is it because of who I am or what I’m doing?”

I think he wants to know if I’m going to be one of those assholes that demeans what he is choosing to do to earn a living. 

“A little to do with who you are,” I admit. He’s my TA, _calvair_ _e_! “I just don’t understand. Why do you do this when you already have a job for the University?”

“The TA job is a requirement for my scholarship. I needed to participate in a University work-study program, and Professor Bunce happened to have an opening that I barely qualified for.”

“If you barely qualified, how did you get the position at all?” I don’t want to sound like I’m judging him, I’m glad he was given a position if he needed it to keep his scholarship.

He shrugs, with those wide beautiful shoulders of his. I can’t tell if I’ve always been weak for every part of his body or if the beer is chipping away at my sensibilities. “My best friend Penny— Penelope Bunce—”

Oh. Bunce. His best friend must be Professor Bunce’s daughter. I’d gripe about nepotism, but with a last name like Grimm-Pitch I tend to slide through life without many problems thanks to my family. 

“— her mother has really stepped up to help me be able to stay in uni. But even with the TA position, I still need to afford my regular living expenses.”

“But why _this_ job? Wouldn’t it be easier to work retail part-time somewhere?”

“ _This_ job,” he says with plenty of weight behind his words, “pays more than double in a couple of hours than what I would make on a whole eight-hour shift working retail. Besides, I’m good at this and I enjoy it.”

“Well, you _are_ good at it,” I agree before thinking it through. I silently wince at my boldness. 

“Better at this than being a TA,” he says in a call-back to our conversation when he had first arrived. 

“You’re not the worst TA,” I offer. “At least you’re not a know-it-all, like Mathieu, who talks down to everybody rather than trying to lead a successful discussion.”

“It would help if I could stop stuttering through seminars. I uhh. I have expressive language disorder. I understand the material but trying to talk about it? The words get all jumbled in my head before they make their way out of my mouth.”

“Everyone has their struggles, Snow.” I know his break must be coming to a close. _Crisse_ , I’m the one paying him. I really could keep him out here talking to me as long as I want. But Dev is probably growing impatient, and that abuse of power doesn’t seem fair to Snow. I shift subjects, because I have one more thing I’d love to know but will never be able to bring up again after tonight. “How did you even get started with this job? I would never have imagined this is what you did in your free time.”

“Penny and her boyfriend, Shep, had talked me into going out to a club with them in our second year. There was a flyer there. It was a bad night for me, you know? My girlfriend had just broken up with me, and the semester was coming to a close. Which meant I was about to lose housing and had nowhere set up to live for the summer.” He fidgets between everything he does. Playing with the sleeves of his robe, taking sips of water. It’s strange reconciling Snow, the horrible TA and Snow, the hot stripper. Here and now, with him talking in stops and starts, but wearing almost nothing, is a strange collision of the two.

“You saw a flyer?” I push.

“Yeah,” he continues, “I noticed a flyer on the board over the bar till that night advertising for ‘ _Exotic Dancers Wanted~ Excellent Pay’._ I had never tried anything like that before, but I was a pretty decent dancer in general and I had nothing to lose.” Snow shrugs and takes a few more sips of water. 

I don’t break my stare, but he won’t really meet my eyes. Is he embarrassed? Either way, he continues after a moment of silence.

“The agency was... well, they were pretty great.” He pauses for another moment. “Very welcoming, you know? And willing to work with me to teach me techniques and routines.” One hand goes to his hair as he glances back at me. I bring my beer to my lips and finish it off but say nothing in response. I think he’s flushed. Is he cold or is it me? I hope it’s me. _Maudit,_ I’m drunk.

“So I take it you liked it?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I do like it. I may not be great at talking with my mouth, but speaking with my body is easy.” He turns to look back out toward the Biosphere. “I can just act and react, I don’t need to think about it.”

I hum at him. He looks miraculous, lit softly by the glow of the city around us.

“I’ve learned a lot about myself this way, what I like and how to tell what others like.” He glances back at me again and there’s something else in his eyes. Some intention. He’s trying to read me, I think. 

“It’s how I came to terms with the fact that I’m attracted to men as well as women.” He shifts his weight to brace himself on one arm, turning fully back toward me.

Why is he telling me this? Is he saying he’s attracted to _me_? He’s certainly _looking_ at me. I don’t break his stare. I don’t think I could if I tried. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of him all night. It’s why I came out here in the first place. Then he had the audacity to invade my solace. (Not that I’m disappointed.)

He recaps his water bottle and turns his back to me, stepping toward the doorway. He stops and looks over his shoulder, his hand on the door.

“Well, I better get back inside. I have my routine down to a science, and I should’ve already gone back in for this song. Don’t tell the host, I hear he’s hard to please.” He _winks_ at me.

As he’s heading in, he calls over his shoulder, “You should come join the guys. I don’t bite, I promise. You might actually enjoy yourself.” 

I’m left there holding my now empty beer (when did I even finish it?), wondering what just happened. The things Simon Snow just said to me may be the most deeply honest things anybody has ever told me. 

“Basilton!” Dev calling my name is what brings me back inside. “Grab me and Niall another beer, would ya? Simon’s going to teach me how to seduce Niall with a lap dance!”

 _Bon dieu_. I don’t know if I’ll be able to endure the rest of this night. 

“You don’t need to seduce me, _niaiseux._ ” Niall is nothing less than a saint, committing to be tied to Devereaux Grimm for the rest of his life. “You can have me anytime you want.”

“I’m going to do it anyway!” 

I hand Niall his beer but hold on to Dev’s while Snow takes him through a few basic moves. I settle in the vacant seat that Dev has been saving for me next to his (now empty) seat. 

I’m watching helplessly, as Snow is working his magic over Dev’s pal, Jean-François. All the while Dev tries to mirror Snow’s moves on Niall. 

The remainder of Snow’s scheduled time goes much like this—moving between the other guys and occasionally returning to dance for Dev and Niall (that is the reason I hired him, after all). 

At the end of the song, Niall grabs Snow by the wrist, dragging him down to tell him something. 

He nods. 

They both look over at me. 

Snow smiles at me, setting my insides on fire. He saunters over my way as the song is winding down.

He leans over me—close, so close—bracing his body weight with a hand against the back of my seat. “Niall asked me if I would dance for you, for just one song before the end of the night.” After tonight, I’m going to kill Niall. His tomb is going to read: _Here lies Niall Laforest-Grimm, he couldn’t leave well enough alone_. 

“You can’t be serious.” I raise an eyebrow at him, before glancing over to Niall and leveling him with a cool look. 

“Look, I’ve danced for everyone but you tonight. I’ve tried to leave you alone, but Niall has been asking me since I came back in. He’s... very persistent.”

The next song begins. I don’t immediately recognise the opening riff. 

I roll my eyes at him and noncommittally shake my head. “I don’t know...” I say. I like watching him, but it just makes me want to touch him. That’s a dangerous road to go down. 

“Come on, Baz,” he says, “Niall will just keep badgering us both if I don’t.”

He’s right. And I _want_ to say yes. So I nod. Fuck the consequences.

Snow grins, and then he’s dancing for me, moving his body in the most seductive way. _Was he like this all night?_ I don’t think he was looking at anyone else with fire in his eyes like this. 

That’s when I realise what song he’s dancing to—for me. 

> _I’m n luv with a stripper_ _  
> _ _She poppin she rolling she rolling_ _  
> _ _She climbing that pole and_  
>  _I’m n luv with a stripper_ _  
> _ _She tripping she playing she playing_ _  
> _ I’m not going nowhere girl I’m staying

He positioned himself facing away from me so I have a perfect view of his shapely ass. His hips hovering over my groin, nearly sitting in my lap. If only he had just a little less muscle control in those powerful legs of his. 

My hands twitch by my side. I want to reach out and touch him, but am I allowed to do that? Can I allow _myself_ that?

I don’t know how he does it, but it’s as if he can sense my nerves and wants to ease them. He skillfully turns his body to face me. 

“You doing okay?” 

“Yeah,” I whisper. I don’t think he can possibly hear me over the music.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” I don’t remember seeing him ask anybody else that tonight. But I think he genuinely cares about my comfort with this. 

I nod my head, not sure if I trust my voice to try to answer. 

He takes both of my hands in his and gently moves them to his hips. My eyes drift to where he’s placed my hands, and see a mole on his left hip that I hadn’t noticed yet tonight. 

I imagine pushing him to the floor and taking that mole in my mouth. Sucking it, leaving a trail of kisses across the smattering of moles and freckles covering his entire body. 

“It’s okay to touch me, if you want.” I shudder at his words, as his hands release mine. I don’t let go. “Live a little.”

I do want to touch him. I want to touch every part of this gorgeous man before me, I have since the first time I saw him. And right now, he wants me to touch him too. 

My hands are slowly moving up his sculpted, sweat-dampened abs. (How does he have both delicious curves _and_ sculpted abs?) I should find the way his body glistens disgusting, knowing that I’m dragging my hands through his sweat, but it’s oddly intoxicating.

 _I want to lick up every drop from his body,_ the thought comes unbidden. I lick my lips instead.

What is wrong with me?

My hands sweep across his broad, smooth chest and down his sides. I slide them down slowly until my fingertips rest on his back dimples. (I can _feel_ his back dimples). I don’t stop there, though, caressing over the soft fabric of his trunks. My heart is beating so fast I can almost feel the pulse in my ears. 

His own hand braces on my chest for just a moment before he’s moving again, my hands falling from his body. 

The rest of the song goes like this, his body moving slow and smooth just inches from making contact. Every time I get used to the rhythm of his movements, he changes. Sometimes he’s on his knees between my legs, crawling up my body. Other times he’s grinding into me, bringing every deliciously provocative thought to the forefront of my mind. 

My hands don’t stop roaming his skin, my mind short circuiting. The only thoughts available to me are how hot his skin feels under my cool palms and how slick and smooth he is as I explore the planes of his body. Somewhere in the back of my mind there is a voice screaming at me that this is wrong. He’s my TA. I’m taking advantage of him as a professional. 

I look into his eyes, and that voice is silenced. If this is all I’m ever allowed to have, I’m going to enjoy it like he told me to. I also may be too drunk to stop myself.

As the song comes to an end, he slowly backs away from me with a grin. 

“Last song, boys,” he announces. Dev looks disappointed, but relaxes back into his seat letting Simon alternate his dance between him and Niall. 

Halfway through the song I realise I can’t sit here any longer. My shirt is clinging to me and my pants are too tight. Has it been this hot in here the whole night? It’s getting hard to breathe, surrounded by the guys. 

My heart is still frantic. I grab another beer from the bar, trying to distract myself. I pick up my phone, check my messages. Tumblr. Whatsapp. Discord. Anything to try and avoid thinking about Simon fucking Snow. 

“So, I need to get going.” I turn around to find Snow changed into street clothes. Tight jeans that hug those beautiful hips, a v-neck tee with a short sleeved flannel left completely unbuttoned. 

“Yeah, okay. Hold up just a minute.” I slide my phone back in my pocket and walk over to the guys to make an announcement. Snow follows close behind, “ _Hé, les gars_! Last call for tips before Simon leaves!” 

Dev scrambles up. I had told him that I would cover tipping for him and Niall, since it’s their bachelor party. But Dev clearly has other plans at the moment. 

He pulls out several bills and slides them into Snow’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “Thanks man, for the lesson tonight. I know that’s probably not what you’re used to. But I… I have plans.”

The other guys all crowd around, thrusting more bills into Snow’s hands. I have no clue how much they tucked into his trunks throughout the night, but I feel like he probably did okay for a night’s work. 

Once the guys give us a bit more space I fish my own tip out of my wallet and press it into his palm. 

He gapes at me when he sees how much I’ve given him. “I— Baz, I’m not that great of a dancer. You don’t need to tip me this much.”

“Please take the money, Snow. It... It’s not just for the dance.” It’s the truth. It isn’t just about the dance. Although he’s wrong about his skills. He’s exceptional. This isn’t even about how attracted I am to him. I’m not trying to buy his affections. 

He reminded me tonight that not everybody is like me, a trust fund kid that doesn’t have to work my way through university. I’d like to see him be able to do more than worry about working as a TA in a class he’s not even comfortable with just to be able to keep his scholarship, and then dancing half naked for groups of drunk men at night just to afford to keep a roof over his head and food in his stomach. He deserves more than that. 

“Yeah, okay.” He scrubs at the back of his neck. It’s like now that he has clothes back on and he’s no longer performing, he’s transitioned into somebody else. “Listen, I’m not ashamed of what I do. But could you maybe not mention this to any of your other friends around campus? There isn’t an explicit contract keeping me from this job while working for the University, but I don’t want to jeopardise my work-study options.”

“No worries, Snow.” I try to keep my voice casual. I don’t want him to see how much I really care about him. Or how angry I am that he could lose his position because a bigoted staff member decides they don’t agree with how he has chosen to earn extra income. 

“Okay, cool. Well, if you ever want to uhh,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. “If you’d maybe want to grab a coffee or something. Outside of school. Text me, yeah?” He presses the card into my hand, his fingers trailing over my palm a heartbeat longer than necessary. 

I just nod, looking at the card. It’s his business card (professionally designed so it doesn’t look like an advert for an exotic dancer) with his personal coordinates handwritten on the back.

“Goodnight, Baz. See you in class on Tuesday.” He picks up his bag and heads for the door. 

I stare after him, trying to figure out how I’m going to finish this semester pining after my idiot TA now that I’ve experienced him grinding into my lap mostly naked. 

“Well, that was an interesting show.” Niall catches me off guard, raising an eyebrow at me. 

“He was decent enough.”

“Come on, Baz. You were eye-fucking him all night long. And then I thought we were going to have to mop you off the floor while he was giving you that lapdance.” The idiot is laughing at my expense, and I can’t say I’m entirely pleased with him.

“ _YOU,”_ I point at him, my finger right in his face, “asked him to dance for me even though I was perfectly content watching the rest of you all make fools of yourselves.”

“You know you wanted him to, and I know you never would have asked him yourself. I let you go the whole night before I finally stepped in.”

“ _Va chier_. I didn’t need you to step in.”

“Clearly. You’re right, I should just let you thirst away for the rest of your life. Simon was the first person I’ve ever seen you look at like that.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like you were interested in them. And I don’t just mean you looked at him like you wanted to find out what he was working with under those trunks. I saw you two talking out on the terrasse during his break. You don’t like talking to people, Baz. But you looked like you wanted to share the meaning of life with him.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter Niall. He’s my TA and I can’t let anything I feel get in the way of his job.”

“He won’t be your TA forever. Semester is almost over, man. Just think about getting in touch with him later. It’d be good for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translations found in this chapter:
> 
> Va chier - "Fuck off"  
> câlisse de sacrament - cursing showing shock/surprise  
> Tabarnak; Câlisse - equivilent to the English "Fuck!"  
> l'esti de cave - "A fucking idiot"  
> Niaiseux - "stupid"


	2. Milton B - Cafétéria Urbaine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of texting and a little bit of hot chocolate

“ _Hé_! Can you pull your faces off each other for a minute?” I sigh. Dev and Niall got married last weekend, and have been in a state of marital bliss since. It’s disgusting—how in love they are. They can’t keep their hands and mouths off each other, no matter who’s in the room or what we’re trying to do. I’m happy for them, really. We all grew up being best friends, but they always had a silent understanding that I was never able to fully comprehend. Somehow I always felt a step behind them, just outside the little bubble they’d created for themselves. I wonder if I’ll ever find somebody to share a bond like that with.

I don’t know why they chose to get married over March study break rather than waiting until after we were all done with the term. Now they’re waiting until summer to go on a honeymoon. (They’re going to Ireland. Apparently that’s where Niall’s family is originally from.)

“I’m ordering poutine before we turn on the game. You two want the same?” 

We’re all at my place getting ready for our weekly Hockey Night In Canada tradition. Every Saturday night we get together to watch the game. Even in the off-season we pick old games to watch so we don’t break tradition. Tonight we’re watching the ‘79 Habs vs. Leafs Stanley Cup Quarterfinals. 

After I call in our order I hand the guys a fresh round of beers and drop into my recliner. 

“So Baz.” Niall is giving me that fucking _look_. The one that means I’m going to regret whatever he’s about to say. “Have you talked to Simon since the party?”

I roll my eyes at him, “Of course I have. I have class with him three times a week.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Have you talked to him _outside_ of class? Asked him out for coffee or something?”

“You know I can’t just do that. I can’t date my TA.” I feel a blush creeping across my face. 

“You don’t have to date him to talk to him outside of class.”

“I know that. But what if he thinks that I’m asking him on a date? It’s complicated. And I don’t want anybody to think that I’ve received special treatment by forming a relationship with him.”

“Then wait until after finals. But you should text him. He’d be good for you, B.” 

“It’d be good for me if I didn’t have asshole friends that feel the need to meddle in my life.”

“ _Je m'en fous_ , man. I just want you to be happy. And you haven’t shut up about him since the beginning of the semester.” 

I sigh, exasperated. “I most certainly did _not_ talk about Snow nonstop. I was just annoyed by the,”—I wave my hand in the air—“everything about him.” His button-downs that were never pressed or buttoned properly. His curls a wiry, unruly mess because he clearly had no clue how conditioner worked. How he couldn’t form a complete sentence without stumbling over himself. It was all so annoying, until I realised I found it endearing too. 

“I don’t care that you were always bitching about how much he screwed up, or how his clothing was disheveled, or whatever else you could think of. All I heard was ‘ _Simon Snow is my great love. I want to get him alone and make his toes curl.’_ ”

“ _Crisse_ , no. That cannot possibly be what you were hearing.”

“You’re not very subtle, B.” I can’t help the eyeroll I give him. I’m not that obvious about my feelings. “We’ve been friends since Sec I, I know how to read between the lines. Maybe not everyone would be able to tell, but I know you. You don’t like anybody, and you certainly don’t talk about anybody unless they’ve left an impression on you.”

I sigh, sinking further into my chair. I know deep down he’s right. My feelings for Snow have been becoming increasingly desperate. I do want to call him, and I know I’ve been talking about him more and more as the term dragged on. 

“There are only two weeks left before finals. If you won’t go out with him before the end of term, at least promise me that you’ll call him after.”

“Fine. I’ll call him _after_ finals.”

Our hockey night goes on much like normal, with one exception. All I can think about is Simon Snow. Those bronze curls and ordinary blue eyes. Those freckles that cover his _entire_ body. The fact that I have his card tucked into the mirror in my bedroom so I have to look at it every day, wondering what would happen if I just texted him. 

His number is already stored in my contacts. Just in case the card comes up missing.

 _Tomorrow,_ I tell myself. I’ll text Snow tomorrow. 

* * *

I didn't text him the following day. Or the day after. 

During our seminar on Wednesday morning, we were giving mock presentations in preparation for our final next week. (I presented first, so all I had to do was sit back and listen to the remainder of the class). 

The whole time, Snow kept glancing over at me and biting that fucking lip of his. I can’t tell if he was trying to make me spontaneously combust, or if he was just thinking. Whatever his reasoning, it was so distracting, I didn’t hear any of the presentations given. 

By Wednesday night I’m thinking about it so much that I’ve taken to absentmindedly bringing up his contact info on my phone.

I open my messages. 

Close them. 

Open a new message. 

    **Wednesday, April 10, 2019**
    

**Baz (21:26)** _ <unsent draft> _ **** _Hi, This is Basilton Grimm-Pitch. You wanted me to text you when I was ready._

     **Baz (21:27)** _< unsent draft> Hello, Snow. This is Baz Pitch._

     **Baz (21:27)** _ <unsent draft> ;FWOIJ4 WHY CAN’T I JUST SEND YOU A MESSAGE _

     **Baz (21:28)** Hey. This is Baz. Are you busy? 

_Tabarnak!_ What did I just do? ‘ _Are you busy?’_ It sounds like a booty call.

I toss my phone onto the coffee table and open a book. 

_It’s fine. Everything is fine. It’ll be okay, just. Breathe. Don’t worry about it._

     **Simon (21:33)** hey baz! uhh, no. im not busy. whats up 
     **Baz (21:35)** I thought maybe it was time to reach out. Since the term is almost over. 
     **Simon (21:37)** im glad u did. Ive been hoping u would. 
     **Simon (21:37)** I wanted 2 say something 
     **Simon (21:38)** But didnt want u 2 feel weird 
     **Baz (21:40)** _ <unsent draft> Couldn’t be more weird than having my TA give me a lapdance. _
     **Baz (21:41)** What did you want to say to me? 
     **Simon (21:45)** just wanted 2 say u should txt me some time. 
     **Simon (21:45)** I was thinking abt it this morn during presentations 
     **Baz (21:48)** _< unsent draft> That would explain why you were biting your lip in the most distracting way the entire class._
     **Baz (21:49)** _ <unsent draft> You should have been listening to the presentation. _
     **Baz (21:50)** Why were you thinking about me texting you? 
     **Simon(21:51)** Honestly? 
     **Baz (21:52)** Please 
     **Simon (21:55)** Cuz i think abt u more than i should 
     **Baz (21:56)** _ <unsent draft> What kind of things are you thinking about, Snow? _
     **Baz (21:57)** Well, I didn’t text you about going out for that coffee. Yet. 
     **Simon (21:58)** Yet? 
     **Baz (22:01)** Yet. If you still want to after finals, I would like that. But not until after the term is done. 
     **Simon(22:01)** Y? 
     **Baz(22:02)** _ <unsent draft> You don’t see how it could be a bad idea to start dating the class TA? _
     **Baz(22:03)** Because I’ve worked too hard for my grades to have them possibly questioned by starting anything with the TA. Isn’t that a conflict of interest for you? 
     **Simon(22:03)** OK. thats fair. Its not against the rules but i can see ur worry 
     **Simon(22:04)** after finals? 
     **Baz(22:04)** Yes, after finals. 
     **Simon(22:04)** cool cool 

I can’t help the grin on my face as I move through the apartment, shutting things off and getting ready for bed. Snow is looking forward to going out on a date with me, would even have gone out with me right away if I wasn’t so stubborn. 

     **Simon(22:10)** so...not getting coffee yet. But can i txt you now? 
     **Baz(22:11)** About what? 
     **Simon(22:13)** Stuff. Id like to know u better 
     **Baz(22:14)** That would be okay I suppose 
     **Simon (22:14)** cool 😎 
     **Simon(22:15)** what r u up 2 now 
     **Baz(22:17)** Getting ready for bed. I have to get up early to get ready for class. 
     **Simon(22:18)** Oh yeah... I should let u get 2 sleep then 
     **Baz(22:21)** That would probably be good. 
     **Baz(22:21)** Goodnight Snow 
     **Simon(22:21)** You can call me Simon 
     **Baz(22:22)** No, I can’t 
     **Simon(22:22)** u could 
     **Baz(22:24)** Goodnight Snow 
     **Simon(22:25)** Fine.. but ill get u 2say it somday 
     **Simon(22:25)** Goodnight Baz 😴 

* * *

Rhys and I are heading out of the Arts building to the dining hall. He is the closest person I have to a friend on campus, even though we really only share three courses together and a lunch break. 

“You do realise that Snow had said that the Sforza was the ruling family of _Florence,_ right?” Rhys asks, looking up at me. Our last seminar of the term just let out, and we had been reviewing the timeline of ruling families. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that I will never be able to look at Simon Snow as the idiot TA I’ve always thought of him again. Now when he mumbles out an incorrect statement or stutters his way through trying to lead a discussion, I let it go. I don’t go out of my way to point out that he has no idea what he’s talking about. Now I know that he probably does know exactly what he means, but the words get disconnected between his brain and mouth.

“I did, but he also corrected himself. He didn’t need me pointing it out to him like a dick.”

“Okay, but when did you start giving him a chance to correct himself? Calling him out was your favourite pastime.”

“I just don’t think it’s worth it anymore. Everyone knows he’s a mumbling fool, I don’t need to keep pointing it out.”

I don’t need to mention that over the term I began to develop feelings for him. I hadn’t really decided what kind of feelings they were until the party. When we actually talked. But now I know Snow is just doing his best to get by. 

“Well, it’s weird. It’s like something changed, and I’m not sure what.”

I will never tell him what changed. Snow asked me not to talk about his night job, and I’m not going to break his trust. I’m also not going to tell anyone that I’ve been slowly falling in love with a gorgeous idiot and hadn’t fully realised it until his clothes came off.

“It’s all in your head. Nothing has changed. I’m just thrilled the term is over and we won’t have to sit through classes with Snow anymore. Final exams are next week and then we’re free for the summer.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Rhys doesn’t look like he believes me, but he lets the conversation drop.

* * *

     **Friday, April 19, 2019**
     **Simon(17:34)** Did u know foster care kids r 2-3x more likely 2 have learning disability or ADHD than children in gen pop 
     **Baz(17:43)** I can’t say I did. What class is that for? 
     **Simon(17:43)** Child mental health 
     **Baz(17:45)** Why are you taking that class? 
     **Simon(17:46)** MSW requirement 
     **Baz(17:49)** You’re getting your MSW?? 
     **Simon(17:49)** 👍🏼👍🏼 
     **Baz(17:51)** Why are you a TA for Italian Ren? 
     **Simon(17:52)** Minor in history 
     **Baz(17:53)** Interesting combination. 
     **Simon(17:55)** Its a fall back plan in case social work doesnt stick 
     **Simon(17:56)** i think id like 2 work in a school if i dont end up working foster care 
     **Simon(17:57)** i want to help kids that need somebody who cares 
     **Baz(17:59)** That sounds like a brilliant plan. 
     **Simon(18:06)** what r u up 2 
     **Baz(18:11)** Just working on a paper for 13th-16th Italian Century Lit 
     **Simon(18:11)** that sounds… fun? 
     **Baz(18:12)** I actually really enjoy this class. 
     **Simon(18:14)** whats the paper about 
     **Baz(18:18)** How Dante’s The Divine Comedy has influenced the arts over the centuries 
     **Simon(18:20)** hmm… Dante sounds familiar? 
     **Baz(18:22)** You probably have heard of Inferno? The story about a man traveling through the nine circles of hell? 
     **Simon(18:23)** oh yeah. That the one where hell is frozen?
     _image sent_  

     **Baz(18:25)** Right. Well The Divine Comedy is written as three _cantiche._ The first is Inferno. 
     **Simon(18:26) 👀** nice books i like the lil devil dudes 
     **Simon(18:26)** whats that mean? Cantche 
     **Baz(18:27)** Sorry. It’s a religious narrative poem. In Italian. 
     **Simon(18:28)** Do you speak italian? 
     **Baz(18:29)** I’m getting my BA in Italian Studies. Yes, I speak Italian. 
     **Simon(18:30)** 😲 
     **Simon(18:30)** srsly? 
     **Baz(18:33)** I speak five languages, Snow. Half of my courses are taught in Italian. 
     **Simon(18:33)** That’s kinda… 
     **Baz(18:34)** Kind of what, Snow? 
     **Simon(18:34)** kinda hot. 🔥 
     **Simon(18:35)** talk italian to me 
     **Baz(18:37)** You’re an idiot 
     **Simon(18:38)** Please??? 😔 
     **Baz(18:39)** Non so perché tu mi piaccia così tanto, bellissimo idiota. 
     **Simon(18:40)** what did u say 
     **Baz(18:42)** Non penso che sarò mai in grado di dirterlo.
     _image received_  

     **Simon(18:43)** Baz.. thats 🔥🔥 
     **Simon(18:43)** Im blushing 
     **Baz(18:45)** _ <unsent draft> How am I supposed to function with you sending me pictures like that?? _
     **Simon(18:45)** srsly tho imma die if u dont tell me waht u said 
     **Baz(18:46)** You’re a lovely idiot. And I like that about you. 
     **Simon(18:47)** ‼ you like me? 
     **Baz(18:47) *** Tolerate. I tolerate that about you 
     **Simon(18:48)** Ur impossible. 
     **Baz(18:49)** What are you up to? 
     **Simon(18:51)** I have 2 gigs 2nite. I should prolly start getting ready 
     **Baz(18:52)** Oh. When do you have to leave for that? 
     **Simon(18:53)** In an hour. But I have 2 shower n prep 
     **Simon(18:53)** Thats y no shirt 
     **Simon(18:54)** No other reasons 😏 
     **Baz(18:55)** Okay. I won’t keep you. Have a good night. 
     **Simon(18:55)** yea. Good luck with finishing ur paper 
     **Baz(18:56)** Thanks Snow. Be safe. 
     **Simon(21:12)** How’s ur nite going 
     **Baz(21:16)** You can’t be done already? 
     **Simon(21:17)** Naw. Headed 2 the 2nd gig. 
     **Baz(21:18)** How did the first one go? 
     **Simon(21:19)** Fine. Nothing exciting. Bachelorette party. 
     **Baz(21:22)** Give out your card to a lucky lady? 
     **Simon(21:23)** Not a chance. U were the 1st person at a gig I ever gave my card 2. 
     **Simon(21:24)** I’m not going 2 start passing it out niw 
     **Baz(21:25)** Well that’s good go hear. 
     **Simon(21:27)** So you know...Im really looking forward 2 finally being able 2go get that coffe with u. 
     **Baz(21:29)** Well, that makes two of us then. 
     **Simon(21:30)** Finals r next week 
     **Simon(21:30)** then coffee time 
     **Baz(21:31)** Indeed 
     **Simon(21:31)** ok. I g2g. Im at the next gig. 
     **Baz(21:32)** _ <unsent draft> Now I’ll be thinking about you nearly naked for the rest of the night. And you’ve just given me a reference photo. _
     **Baz(21:32)** Okay. Hope everything goes well. Have a good night. 

* * *

**Sunday, April 21, 2019**

     **Simon (6:45)** Goodmorning baz 🌞 
     **Baz (6:49)** Is it? 
     **Simon (6:50)** It is for me im having scones for breakfast 
     **Simon (6:50)** Is thismorning bad 4 u 😟 
     **Baz (6:51)** Not necessarily. Just not good either. Why are you even awake right now? 
     **Simon (6:51)** I go 2 the gym in the morning 
     **Simon (6:51)** Working out starts my day off right 
     **Simon (6:51)** Y r u up? 
     **Baz (6:52)** Morning class. 
     **Simon (6:53)** Grump 
     **Simon (7:04)** Mitali had me schedule a study thing today.. for the exam 
     **Simon (7:05)** R u coming?? 
     **Simon (7:07)** U almost know the stuff better than me 
     **Simon (7:07)** U probably dont need to eh? 
     **Baz (7:08)** Did you just say “eh” in a text? 
     **Baz (7:10)** I was planning on attending. 
     **Simon (7:10)** good eh? 😉 
     **Baz (7:11)** I don’t think I know the material better than you do. 
     **Simon (7:11)** but u correct me all the time eh? 
     **Baz (7:11)** Not anymore, I don’t. 
     **Simon (7:12)** thats tru eh 😉 
     **Baz (7:12)** Please stop saying eh 
     **Simon (7:12)** see you this afternoon eh 😉 
     **Baz (7:15)** Oui. 
     **Simon (7:16)** 🙂 

* * *

     **Thursday, April 25, 2019**
     **Simon (13:47)** will you text me when you finish the exam today 
     **Baz (13:48)** Sure? 
     **Simon (13:48)** good 🙂 
     **Baz (13:49)** Why? 
     **Simon (13:49)** Cuz after that im not ur ta anymore 
     **Simon (13:50)** Its after finals 
     **Simon (13:50)** Or the ital renn final at least 
     **Simon (13:50)** U know?? Coffee time 
     **Baz (13:51)** You want to get coffee with me right after a 20:00 exam? It will be 22:00 by the time the exam lets out. 
     **Simon (13:51)** Yeah 🙂 
     **Baz (13:54)** I can’t drink coffee that late, Snow. I have another final tomorrow 
     **Simon (13:55)** Well then we can get hot chocolate or somethn 
     **Simon (13:56)** If you still want to ? 
     **Baz (13:56)** I do still want to. 
     **Simon (13:56)** good 🙂 
     **Simon (13:56)** its a date see you tonite 💞 
     **Baz (14:00)** Yes. Good. See you tonight. 
     **Baz (14:01)** _ <unsent draft> I don’t know how I’ll focus on the exam with you on my mind, Simon. _
     **Thursday, April 25, 2019**
     **Baz(21:48)** Well that exam was abysmal. 
     **Simon(21:49)** ur all done??? 
     **Baz(21:49)** I am. 
     **Simon(21:50)** meet me at Milton B in 15? 
     **Baz(21:50)** See you then 

The drive to Milton B is only two minutes. I am vibrating with anticipation after thinking about this date for the last three weeks. 

What if tonight is a total disaster? I don’t want to think about the possibility of Snow realising we’re not a good match and moving on. Connecting with him by text has been so easy. What if we’re not actually compatible in person?

All these thoughts are running through my head as I enter the café. He isn’t here yet, so I find us an unoccupied table but wait to order. 

Snow walks in and I feel some of the tension in me evaporate. He pauses at the door for a moment and surveys the café until he finds me. When he does, he freezes there and smiles at me and it’s better than anything I’ve ever seen. It takes over his face, his body, his whole self. He is the sun in this mundane, 24-hour café.

There’s another patron waiting to come through the door behind him. She taps him on the shoulder and he breaks our stare, turning to apologise and walk toward me. My heart is beating in my throat. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous when I’ve interacted with him in so many other circumstances without issue (arguably without issue). I will my heart to resume beating in my chest so that I can greet him properly. 

“Hey, Baz!” 

“Snow,” I say, but I smile at him. He smiles that same radiant smile from when he came in the door, then bites his lip. My knees are weak—I’m glad I’m seated. But I relax a bit. I know him. This date is a new thing, but the talking is old hat.

“I’ll go order for us,” Snow offers. “Do you want anything extra on your hot chocolate?” 

“I’ll take a shot of vanilla.”

“Vanilla in your chocolate, eh?”

“I like both.”

“Well you know me—I go both ways, too.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, “That was terrible, Simon.”

“Ha! You called me Simon.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did. I heard you. And I liked it.”

“Go get our hot chocolate already, Simon.”

“You did it again,” he grins over his shoulder as he turns his back on me and walks toward the registers. _Crisse_ , I love the view.

When we’re both settled with steaming mugs of hot chocolate (mine with vanilla, his with peppermint) we fall into conversation so easily that I can’t believe I was ever nervous about it. We talk about the final for a moment, but the whole point of this date is that the class is over. 

I find myself monologuing on my thoughts on my various thesis proposals for next year. Simon listens intently even when I dive deep enough into my ideas that half of what I’m saying is in Italian. The fact that he’s paying this much attention to me even when I _know_ I’m being a boring nerd is ridiculously appealing. 

“I’m sorry, Snow. I’ve been dominating the conversation thus far.”

He blinks a few times at me before responding. “What? No. Have you?”

“Are you... joking?” I quirk an eyebrow and he cracks a dazed-looking grin. “I’ve just told you about approximately eighty of my thesis ideas.”

“I know! So much Italian.” He nods and his eyes are a little glazed. “It is really hot, Baz.”

“Simon,” I hiss, but I smile into my hot chocolate.

“I do like it when you use my regular name,” he responds, “and when you say things in Italian.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Say something else in Italian to me?”

“ _Perché vuoi lavorare con i ragazzi svantaggiati?_ ”

“So hot,” he leans forward and whispers, “I don’t care if you’ve just insulted me.”

“I didn’t. I asked you why you want to work with disadvantaged youths.”

“You sneak!” he laughs. “You’re not supposed to just continue the conversation in languages I don’t know.”

“Well?” I say, then, “I’ll ask again in English or French if you’d like.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “I can just stop avoiding the question. It’s silly to avoid it, but... I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I just have a hard time talking about myself I think.” He pauses for a moment to consider. I let the silence stew, meeting his eyes.

He looks away before he speaks. “Anyway, I just want to help kids who don’t have anyone else.”

“Such a hero,” I say. He blushes. “You’ve already told me that, though. Is there something that led you to want to pursue social work in particular?”

“Always asking the real questions, I see.” Simon downs the remainder of his hot chocolate and starts playing with the mug on the table. “Yeah, though. I do have a reason. I... don’t really have parents. I grew up in the foster care system in rural Quebec. It was... bad.”

“Oh,” is all I can say.

“Yeah. That’s why my accent is so mixed up.”

“I’m sorry.” 

He shrugs in answer. “I figure if I can make someone else’s experience in the foster system better, I should. I had one social worker, Ebb, who helped me through a lot when I was younger, you know. She’s the one that inspired me to go to university at all, so I figured I’d do social work. Plus, I’m actually pretty good with people.”

“I’m glad you had her.”

“Me too,” he says, nodding at his empty cup. I want to do something for him. Make all this better. But I can’t exactly go back in time and change things. So I stick my foot out and bump it into his. He startles a bit, then looks up and gives me a slight smile.

“Yeah. Actually my childhood is a bit of a downer. Can I talk about something else?”

“Of course.” I breathe a sigh of relief that I haven’t just ruined everything by pushing him to answer my questions.

“Thanks, Baz.” He nudges my foot back. I should not be affected like this by a simple game of footsie. “Oooh! I do have stories about when I started stripping! Well... if you’re comfortable with that.”

“I’d love to hear them. You’ve given me a mostly-naked lap dance, Snow. I’m very aware of your job and its many... perks.” I try to stop myself from glancing at his forearms. (I do not succeed.)

He graces me with his full grin again and dives into a story. I’m sure he has some wild ones.

“So my agency is operated through one of the strip clubs,” he starts. I’m so glad he’s willing to share like this about his job. We can get to more about his childhood later (hopefully there is a later for us). “Sometimes they call me to fill in and dance on stage. Which isn’t terrible, I guess.”

“Do you have to strip completely at the club?” I’ve never actually been to a strip club, but I’ve heard some stories.

“I work the earlier shift so I don’t have to strip bare. That’s just. Not something I’m comfortable with,” he shrugs. 

“Tell me the craziest thing that’s ever happened to you. Either at the club or a gig.” I honestly want to hear everything. 

“Hmm.” He twists his napkin while thinking about the question. “Okay, so. When I first started dancing, I was still working out what my boundaries were. I was good with dancing and stripping. But was I willing to be completely bare for strangers? Would I be willing to dance in the private rooms, where people get a little crazier? Would I be willing to touch and be touched if it meant extra money?

“While I was still figuring things out, the club manager had me wear a jockstrap. Until I could prove that I could pull in patrons without flaunting my entire body.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, somewhat disappointed that I missed out on a time when Simon was stripping down to a jockstrap, showing off that glorious ass of his. And I haven’t even seen it bare yet. _(Yet!)_

“So I had been called in to work at the club one evening. And when I was done with my routine I came off stage to chat up a couple of patrons that had been paying a bit more attention than most. And one guy offered to pay me 100 bucks to give him my jockstrap. Mind you, it wasn’t that he wanted to see me naked. He just wanted the jockstrap.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know! To take home and sniff at night?”

“Eugh.”

“I had a bouncer throw him out when he got rowdy about it.”

“Did you have people like that often?”

“Often enough... but that’s why we have bouncers. I don’t work at the club much anymore. I’m better suited for private parties, so the manager usually sends me out unless they’re in a pinch at the club.”

“It’s hard for me to see how you can be okay with people touching you. How do you set boundaries for that? I mean... you’re...” I wave my hand at his whole body. He is... delectable.

“I dunno,” he says. “People pay more if there’s the option to touch, but for private parties I can have a contract. I guess I don’t mind so much anymore. I’ve been doing this for three years now. I think the people I dance for want to look at me, but there’s something important about touch, too. A lot of people don’t get enough of it.”

“That’s a fascinating way of looking at it.”

He shrugs, “I just like dancing. Knowing that I’m good at creating a fantasy for somebody who is lonely or stressed.”

“You are certainly good at it.” 

He grins. “Thanks.”

“I’d love to learn to dance like you do,” I say. His eyes flash.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I can teach you, Baz. I’d love to teach you,” he says. I feel something hopeful in my chest at this. He wants to keep seeing me. He’d _love_ to keep seeing me.

With the boldness born from that last thought, I say, “Maybe one of our future dates can involve dancing?”

Simon’s grin widens again. I feel like I’m melting from my nearness to it. “Yeah, Baz. Let’s go dancing.”

By the time I finish my hot chocolate, Simon’s eyelids are drooping. 

“I think we should get you home,” I say.

“What no! We can keep talking.” My heart flutters in my chest that he wants to keep talking to me. 

“Simon. You’re practically falling asleep at the table. And I have another final tomorrow.” He immediately looks guilty when I mention my final.

“Oh. No. You’re right, you’re right.”

He holds the door for me as we exit and I turn to him when we’re both outside, filled with some unexpected boldness.

“Did you drive here or take the metro?” I ask him. I want to extend this date too. I’d extend it forever if I could. 

“Metro, why?”

“Would you like a ride?”

“Actually, yeah that’d be great,” he says, running his hand through the hair at the back of his head. 

“I’m just here,” I say, gesturing at the Jag and unlocking it with the fob. 

He stares at the car with both of his eyebrows raised. “Baz, what the fuck. Aren’t you a student? Why do you have a car at all? Let alone _this!_ ”

“ _Ta geule_ , Simon. I like cars,” I snap and climb into the front seat. He’s grinning at me mischievously as I start the car. “What?” I ask.

“You called me Simon again.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” I glance toward him to glare and he’s leaning back against the window. He doesn’t stop looking at me when I meet his eyes, but they do droop a little in sleepiness. It’s utterly adorable.

“Where to, Simon?” I say his name again. Just so he’ll smile at me. He does. It’s glorious.

“I’m near the Saint-Laurent metro station.” 

It’s just past midnight when we reach Simon’s apartment building. I can double park, it’s so late, but I turn on the hazard lights. I’m not sure Simon will make it to the door without my help. Or maybe he’s just being dramatic so I’ll follow him to his door. I’d do pretty much anything for him.

When I pull him from the car by the hand a shiver goes through me. I’m so affected by his touch, even in so small a thing. 

The last thing I want to do is pressure him into anything, so I release his hand once he’s standing.

“Thanks for driving me home, Baz.” 

“Anytime, Simon.” The sleepy grin on his face at the mention of his name is enough to make me melt. “You should get to bed before you fall asleep where you stand.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He leans back against the door, watching me from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. “Be safe driving home.”

I nod, “Goodnight, Simon.” _Crisse_ , I want to kiss him goodnight. But after our talk about the significance of touch I don’t want to do anything that might presume too much. I don’t want to push myself on him, especially with him as vulnerable as he is right now from exhaustion. 

I’m about to turn back to my car when I feel his hand on my elbow to stop me from leaving. I pause, contemplating if this is an invitation to kiss him. 

Before I have time to think too much about it, his hand softly braces against the back of my neck. 

Then _he_ kisses _me._

I can taste mint chocolate.

As quickly as it began, he pulls away, a smile on his lips as he opens the door, stumbling inside. 

“Goodnight, Baz,” he whispers, gently shutting the door behind him. 

The drive back to my apartment goes by in a haze, the ghost of Simon Snow’s mouth on mine under the streetlights the only thought in my mind.

* * *

     **Friday, April 26, 2019**
     **Baz (0:24)** _< unsent draft> __YOU KISSED ME SIMON I CANT AKIOWEJRIE_
     **Baz (0:26)** _ <unsent draft> _ 💖💖🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤💖💖 
     **Baz (0:27)** _< unsent draft> i want to kiss you again. I hope youll kiss me again_ 💖 
     **Baz (0:32)** Thank you for the lovely date, Snow. 
     **Simon (7:34)** Yah it was great baz i wanna kiss you again 😘😘😘 
     **Simon (7:35)** Good luck with your final today 💞 
     **Simon (7:35)** Ur gonna do great 
     **Baz (9:12)** I’m sure I will. I also want to kiss you again. I have plans with Dev and Niall tonight but I’ll text you about it tomorrow. 
     **Simon (9:13)** COOL YEA SOUNDS GOOD BAZ 😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phrase Translations:  
> French: (Thank you to KrisRix for the help with this. Your knowledge of quebecois cursing gives me life)  
> Je m’en fous - "I couldn't care less" (This line was almost 'je m'en fiche'/"I don't give a fuck". So read that as you will.)
> 
> Italian: (Thank you to Llamapyjamas for these translations!)  
> Non so perché tu mi piaccia così tanto, bellissimo idiota. - "I don't know why I like you so much, you beautiful idiot"  
> Non penso che sarò mai in grado di dirterlo. - "I don't think i will ever be able to tell you that"


	3. Sainte-Catherine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Singing, dancing, and a very important lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone leaving such amazing comments and kudos, we are quite overwhelmed by your love and support of this fic!  
>  **Fair warning** : THE PLOT IS OVER... well, mostly. Chapters 3 and 4 are literally just self & BazzyBelle indulgence, letting the boys have fun, date, and fall a little more in love. 
> 
> Thanks again, and much love to you all! ~~ Liz (foolofabookwyrm) and Abby (normal 😉)

    **Sunday, April 28, 2019**
     **Simon (9:20)** goodmorning Baz 🙂
     **Baz (12:17)** Good morning, Simon.
     **Simon (12:21)** wow u slept in alot its not moring
     **Baz (12:21)** Yes. I generally do that on weekends. I was up late with Dev and Niall celebrating the end of finals. Did you do anything to celebrate?
     **Simon (12:23)** Aa haha i had a gig... so kinda?
     **Baz (12:29)** Well... would you like to celebrate tonight?
     **Simon (12:29)** With you??? yes
     **Simon (12:29)** Always 😊😘😘😘
     **Simon (12:30)** Well uh.. Hwen I dont have work but i dont have work tonite so yes 4 tonite
     **Baz (12:32)** Good. Meet me at Le Date. 20:30
     **Simon (12:32)** Yeah!! See you Baz 😁
     **Baz (12:33)** Wear something nice, Snow.
     **Simon (12:33)** Oooooh you want me to wear my tearaways??
     **Baz (12:33)** Do you consider those nice
     **Simon (12:34)** No but le date is not somewhere you dress ‘’’nice’’’
     **Simon (12:34)** At least not ur kind ot nice baz
     **Baz (12:34AM)** I just meant to dress appropriately
     **Simon (12:34)** Butttttt dont u want me to dress.... inappropriately 😉😘
     **Simon (12:35)** i sure hope u dress inappropriately 😉😘
     **Simon (12:35)** will u wear that one pair of jeans?? u no the ones 🔥
     **Baz (12:37)** Fine.
     **Simon (12:37)** looking forward to seeing u ❤
     **Baz (12:38)** me too

* * *

Simon is waiting outside of Le Date Karaoke when I arrive. He’s wearing black jeans matched with a turquoise v-neck that brings out the colour of his eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so put together. He looks good. _Too good_. Like he actually picked clothes that accentuate his most striking features. I wonder, momentarily, if he has some fashionable gay roommate who had a hand in his clothing choice tonight. This outfit is inspired compared to how he dressed for our seminars.

He’s currently staring at his phone as I walk up, which gives me a chance to stare at _him_ a moment longer than I probably should.

When he looks up and sees me approaching, the idiot just grins, his eyes roaming me from head to toe.

“Baz, you’re wearing... _the_ jeans.” he sounds shocked, as if he wasn’t the one to ask me to wear them. These jeans, specifically.

The first time he saw me wearing them was at the first seminar we had after I texted him. I can’t say that choosing to wear them that day was purely accidental—I am well aware of how great my legs look in them; they hug and lift in all the right places. I wasn’t even out of the building after class before I got a text that only said “ _F;LWIEMNROIJF THOSE JEANS_ 😲🔥😲🔥😲” I made a mental note to save them for days I felt particularly inclined to rile him up.

I’ve matched the jeans with a purple floral button-down, and even took the time to paint my nails with Holo. (Magenta jelly polish with a purple flakie topcoat. It looks stunning in the light.) I, quite frankly, look amazing and I’m a little relieved that he’s having the reaction that he is.

“Did you not want me to wear these jeans, Snow?” The way he’s looking at me is almost enough to set me alight.

Rather than answering, he snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me in, our noses only inches apart.

“I definitely wanted you to wear them,” his breath is hot against my lips. His other hand slowly creeps up my body, pausing on my chest. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our date the other night.”

“Me too,” I find myself whispering. I can feel my heart thundering in my chest.

“I’d really like to kiss you again, Baz.” His nose nudges mine, his lips closing into mine by a fraction.

“Me too,” I know I’m repeating myself, but right now I can’t find it in me to care.

He closes what little distance was left between us, carefully pressing our lips together. The kiss is soft, hesitant. A spark radiates through my entire body. I think I’d like to spend my entire life being kissed by Simon Snow.

I pull back and see a look of mischief in his eyes.

“C’mon, Baz,” he grabs my hand, leading me to the door. “Let’s go celebrate the end of term.”

We pick a small table out of the way. Simon pulls my chair right next to his, wrapping an arm around me, pulling my back flush to his chest so he can show me the song catalogue in the app. (If Simon wants to hold me close, who am I to argue?)

Shortly after our third round of drinks, the duet that Simon picked out for us comes up in the queue. We both drain the rest of our drinks and approach the stage.

I’m an even mixture of nervous and excited to be singing with Simon. I’ve had just the right amount of alcohol that I know I won’t sound terrible, but loose enough that I don’t have it in me to overanalyze the implications of doing a duet with the man I’ve been seeing.

    _Baby let's cruise away from here  
_
    _Don't be confused, the way is clear  
_
    _And if you want it, you got it forever  
_
    _This is not a one night stand baby, yeah_

By the end of the song I’m thrumming with energy. We were so completely in sync and singing just for each other—there could just as easily have been nobody else in the room to watch the magic flow between us.

His hands are on me the moment we get off the stage, pulling me to him by my shirt (I don’t even care if he wrinkles it).

“ _È stato fantastico_!” I realise I’m shouting—in Italian, no less—pumped up on adrenaline.

“So fucking hot,” he breathes into my mouth as he kisses me—his tongue tasting of the margaritas he’s been drinking all night. After what feels like several minutes he pulls back, slightly breathless and biting his lip, “Dance with me.”

After our performance together, I feel like we could do anything. “ _Assolutamente_ ,” I mutter as I nip at his lower lip. He pulls me further onto the dance floor, walking with the air of a King entering his own domain.

“I know you’re smoother than this, Baz.” By the second song, I think Simon has realised that I have no idea how to dance with _him._ I love karaoke and dancing, coming here was my idea after all. I’ve never been a _great_ dancer but I’m decent enough to not feel awkward about going out and having a good time. However, something about being here with _Simon_ has rendered me stiff and stupid.

His body is exceptional, he knows exactly how to move to make me want to drag him out of here to map out every one of his delectable moles with my tongue. Just like the night of the party, I’m keenly aware of how fluid his movements are. His hands, his mouth, every point of contact that he makes with me sets me on fire, making it impossible to remember how to move. _I’m confident I knew how to dance with a gorgeous man before tonight._

“Loosen up!” he’s laughing as he says it, his body pressed to my back and his hands exploring my body. I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against his shoulder, reaching up to bury my hands in those thick curls of his.

I try to _feel_ the music, find our rhythm, letting his hands guide my movements and just be one with him.

It doesn’t work.

I’m still stiff and awkward. I know I’m not dancing like I should be.

_Why is this so difficult?_

I turn around in his arms, cupping my hands around his neck. He slides his hands down my body until they find their way into my back pockets. He gives my ass a small squeeze, holding me close to him while grinding on me. This nightmare is going to be the death of me.

When the song ends, he takes me by the hand leading us back towards the bar. His smile hasn’t dropped once, though, so he must not be too concerned with how bad I am at this.

“I’m going to go use the washroom,” he says with that brilliant smile on his face. “Why don’t you order us another round of drinks?”

We’ve managed to reclaim our table in the back corner while waiting for our songs to come up in the queue.

“Tell me something about your life that I don’t already know,” I ask as we share an order of _croustilles de maïs et pico di gallo._

He bites on his lip, thinking. I should not find it nearly as attractive as I do.

“Uhh—well—I live with Penny? Haven’t told you that yet, have I?”

“You haven’t. Do you enjoy living with your best friend?”

“It’s nice. Having somebody solid to rely on. Somebody who really _knows_ me,”—he swirls his margarita a little, playing with his straw,—“and sticks around anyway, you know? It’s like having a family for the first time.” He takes a drink, a rosy blush taking over his face. I don’t think he meant to admit that last part.

“Do you have a roommate?” He asks, pushing the conversation forward as quickly as he can manage.

“I don’t anymore. Dev and Niall used to live with me, but when an apartment opened up in our building they moved into their own space. It was good for all of us—I know you don’t know Dev well, but imagine trying to live with him. He’s a ceaseless menace.”

Simon laughs at that, I’m sure thinking back to the bachelor party when Dev talked Simon into teaching him how to give a proper lap dance.

Simon’s phone begins buzzing, alerting us that his song is the next up in the queue. He’s refused to tell me what song he chose, but whatever it is has him excited to sing for me.

Once he’s taken up his place at the mic, he finds me in the crowd and _winks_ at me. I wonder where all of this confidence has come from, when this same man could hardly make it through a seminar without tripping over himself.

His song starts up and he’s singing _Got My Mind Set On You_. When he’s singing his voice is deep and smooth, with none of the awkward stops and starts he has while carrying on a conversation.

When he comes off stage, he’s grinning.

“Simon! How is it fair that you can sing _and_ dance? You sound _exactly_ like George Harrison!”

He’s still grinning, “Yeah, actually. Penny says that all the time. That’s why I picked that one, it’s my best karaoke song.”

It’s not much longer before the song I picked out is queued up, _500 Miles_ by The Proclaimers. Unfortunately, I’ve drank substantially more by this point in the evening so I’m afraid the words are a slurred mess but I don’t care right now.

    _When I wake up, well I know I'm gonna be,  
_
    _I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next you  
_
    _When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be  
_
    _I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you  
_
    _If I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be  
_
    _I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you_

I nearly trip over myself coming off the stage, landing headlong into a set of sturdy arms. I look up to find Simon’s blue eyes looking down at me.

 _“When I fall, I’m going to be the man that falls for you?”_ he’s laughing at me, in a sing-song voice.

“ _Arrêt de niaiser, là_.” I can feel the blush that is surely on my cheeks, but I hope the heat of the room and the amount of alcohol we’ve drunk tonight masks it.

I take Simon by the hand and weave our way back onto the dance floor. I’m determined to end this night proving to Simon that I’m not such an inept fool. We spend the rest of the night in a tangle of limbs on the dance floor and hot mouths on each other. I’m not sure I’ve proved anything but how obsessed with him I am, but he seems to like it plenty.

* * *

    **Wednesday, May 1, 2019**
     **Simon(7:48)** goodmorning baz!! 🌞 how did u sleep
     **Baz(10:48)** Fine. And you?
     **Simon(10:54)** Pretty great. was up early enough 2get my fave scone @ the bakery
     **Baz(11:01)** Which scone is your favourite?
     **Simon(11:03)** Sour cherry but they r usually out b4 i get there
     **Baz(11:04)** Well I’m glad you get one today.
     **Simon(11:04)** excuse??? *O N E* ??!!
     **Baz(11:05)** More than one?
     **Simon(11:05)** I got all they had
     **Baz(11:06)** How many was that??
     **Simon(11:07)** 6?
     **Baz(11:08)** You didn’t seriously buy a half dozen?
     **Simon(11:08)** I BOUGHT THEM ALL
     **Baz(11:10)** Okay, okay. But please tell me you didn’t eat them all already
     **Simon(11:11)** oh, I ate them
     **Simon(11:11)** with extra butter
     **Simon(11:11)** gotta balance out my workout routine somehow
     **Simon(11:12)** I need to keep a couple curves
     _image received_  

     **Baz(11:18)** You can’t just send things like that!!
     **Simon(11:18)** Sorry?
     **Baz(11:21)** No. It’s good, Simon. I just wasn’t ready for that before I’ve even had my coffee.
     **Baz(11:22)** Speaking of, I really need to get ready for practice.
     **Simon(11:23)** do u think i can come watch sometime
     **Baz(11:25)** I’m sure we could arrange that. Today is just going to be shooting drills though. Come this weekend, we’re planning a scrimmage.
     **Simon(11:25)** 😁🏒😁 Txt me when ur done practice

* * *

I joined a 5x5 LFA beer league summer hockey team. It’s been a couple years since I’ve played on a team, but I made it through try-outs and placed on an intermediate team. Our first game of the season is in a couple weeks, so I’ve been on the ice or in the gym nearly every day.

Simon wanted to come watch the team practice. He was never actually able to play on a team thanks to being bounced around in the care system, so he was curious what practices looked like. I knew it would be a bit distracting having him there watching me, but I could never deny him anything.

I’m the last one out of the locker room after practice is finished. Before I leave, I make sure to snap a photo of myself, soaking wet and shirtless after my shower. I need a revenge thirst trap to use on Simon later.

As soon as I walk out of the locker room, my back slams against the wall. I drop my gear bag in shock (and because I would much rather hold Simon).

“ _Baptême_ , Baz,” his mouth is on mine before I have time to argue about being in public. “You never told me you’re a goddamn sniper!” His lips move from my lips to my neck. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re playing.”

“It wasn’t even a real game,” I huff out a laugh. If he’s this worked up over watching a 3x3 scrimmage, I can only imagine what he’ll be like when he watches an actual game.

“Don’t care,” he has a hand in my hair, the other gripping my hip as he continues plying my neck and collarbone with open mouthed kisses, “the way you move on the ice. It’s like you don’t even have to think about it, you just move on instinct.”

“I’ve played as long as I can remember— _Câline_.” He’s found a particularly sensitive spot that he’s now gently sucking on. Not enough to leave a mark (I hope), but he’s leaving me nearly breathless. In the middle of the hallway, no less. I’m going to die being kissed by Simon Snow. I manage to collect my wits enough to breathe out, “At this point, it’s all reflex.”

“You know, you could move like that all the time.” He pulls away from my neck and is smiling at me with mischief in his eyes.

I know he’s thinking back to karaoke the other night. I was so awkward dancing with him. He moves fluidly and with his whole body, I had no idea how to dance with him. I thought for sure he’d see that we’re not compatible and wouldn’t want to go out with me again. But then he asked to come watch my practice, and I had a little more hope.

“Skating and dancing are _not_ the same,” I argue.

“Sure they are. I watched you out there, you’re graceful and powerful and react without needing to think. Dancing is the same, just without the skates.” He steps back from me, grabbing my bag in one hand and lacing our fingers together with the other. “Come on, Baz _._ We have a date with Timbits.”

* * *

    **Tuesday, May 14, 2019**
     **Simon(22:42)** Talk italian 2 me baz?
     **Baz(22:47)** Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
     **Baz(22:47)** mi ritrovai per una selva oscura
     **Baz(22:47)** ché la diritta via era smarrita.
     **Simon(22:47)** Câlisse baz 😳
     **Baz(22:48)** Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura
     **Baz(22:48)** esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte
     **Baz(22:48)** che nel pensier rinova la paura!
     **Simon(22:51)** Someday I want 2 hear u say these things 😩🥵
     **Baz(22:54)** Why not today?
     **Baz(22:55)** _ <audio file sent> _
     **Simon(22:56)** ALSKDFAKLS;

* * *

We’ve had a few more dates for coffee and a few others dancing at clubs. I still can’t come close to matching his skill when he dances, but I _love_ watching him.

I usually sit back and watch him dance with other people until I’ve had enough to drink that I feel comfortable joining. Maybe someday I'll be comfortable dancing with him while sober, but I’m not there yet.

This particular club has a maple syrup cocktail Simon can’t get enough of. He ordered three and gave one to me. It is delicious. Not as delicious as his dancing, though.

I’m sipping the drink at our high top while Simon dances, watching him closely. He’s dancing with a woman today. She’s petite, blond, and probably quite pretty, knowing the women Simon attracts. I have eyes for no one but him. He flashes the girl a smile and looks up over her shoulder at me. He smiles. It’s not meant to be sultry, but everything he does seduces me. He holds my eye contact, whispers something to the girl, then saunters back toward me.

“ _Mon chou_ ,” he says. _Mon chou? Maudit_ , he’ll be the death of me. He picks up his second drink, downs three quarters of it and swirls the last bit of syrupy alcohol as he leers at me. “Dance with me, Baz. Please?”

I can’t exactly deny him when he asks like _that_ , so I stand and step toward him around our table. “You,” I say, “are a menace.”

His smile spreads back across his face (so gorgeous). He steps toward me too, glances down at my shirt (unbuttoned enough to reveal a bit of chest hair), and places his free hand on my exposed chest.

“You like it,” he says. He lifts up on his toes to kiss me on the mouth, and in one fluid movement, unbuttons my shirt to my navel, pours the remainder of his drink on me, and bends to lick a stripe up through the mess.

“ _Tabarnak_! Simon are you trying to fucking kill me.” The drink is cold on my skin and his tongue is hot. The viscous liquid slowly drips down my chest through my carefully-groomed hair. He never thinks when he’s like this, he just _moves_. I love it. He can get me to bend to his every whim.

“No. Just want you to dance with me.” He maintains eye contact and licks another drop of maple syrup off of me, lingering at my collarbone.

“ _Crisse_ , I will if it’ll stop you from making any more messes like this.”

“Oh, Baz, I’m no stranger to _all types_ of messes.” He plops the empty glass on the table and drops his hand casually to the front of my jeans and hooks his thumb into the pocket. His fingers are _just there_ and I have to resist thrusting into him. (We haven’t done _that_ yet, but _crisse, I want to._ )

I let loose another barrage of curses at him as I mop up my chest with a napkin dipped in water. He places another wet, drunk kiss to my bare chest before pulling me to the dance floor without letting me re-button my shirt. And I let him.

We dance. And tonight I let myself relax into him a little more. I still can’t match him for grace, but I think maybe someday I will.

* * *

    **Thursday, May 23, 2019**
     **Simon(15:21)** Baz help me
     **Simon(15:21)** Baz i need u 2 b my self control
     **Simon(15:22)** Baz im serious
     **Baz(15:24)** What is it, you bothersome thing?
     **Simon(15:24)** I want to lick [the butter people](https://www.google.com/search?q=the+butter+people+statue+montreal&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS830US831&sxsrf=ALeKk02t6R3OzbI2PrSlWE78yUU_DkOvrw:1596793040169&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjhmsHP5YjrAhV_JzQIHdDRDlMQ_AUoAXoECBoQAw&biw=1368&bih=770&dpr=2)
     **Baz(15:24)** What
     **Simon(15:24)** You know the butter people near campus
     **Simon(15:24)** I want to lick them
     _image received_  

     **Simon(15:26)** sry u were typing for too long i did it
     **Baz(15:28)** _T’es donc ben_ _niaiseux_ i will never kiss you again osti'd cave!!!
     **Simon(15:28)** 😭😭😭😭😭😭
     **Baz(15:29)** Well. Maybe if you brush your teeth 4 or 5 times.
     **Simon(15:29)** 🥰🥰😁😁😘😘

* * *

Simon and I are laying together on his couch watching Dirty Dancing. He was particularly scandalized when I told him a couple of days ago that I’d never watched the movie (apparently it’s one of his favourites). He insisted that I come over to his place so I could be educated.

“Simon.” We’re not very far into the movie yet. Johnny is teaching Baby how to dance. I see why this movie is one of his favourites. Patrick Swayze had some incredible moves, and something about him makes me think of Simon.

“Hmm?” He shifts his position to be able to get a better look at me.

“Do you remember when I told you I’d love to learn to dance like you?”

“Yeah,” he grins, sounding more excited than I’d have expected. I should have known better, really. “Do you want to be my Baby?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Yeah, I do.” He nearly launches himself off the couch, dragging me up with him in one smooth move. “Are you ready to dance?”

“If you’re ready to teach me, then yes. Absolutely.” His enthusiasm is ridiculous, like a kid on Christmas.

He’s already paused the movie and is queueing up one of the playlists on his phone.

“Okay, so the first thing you need to learn is how to hold your stance and a few basic moves that you can use with most songs.”

Simon the dance instructor is a completely different person than Simon the TA. With his music playing in the background he exudes the confidence he never had during classes.

He walks me through keeping a wide stance, with knees bent to lower your center of gravity. “Okay now that you’ve got the stance right, let’s start with a double leg body roll.” I have no idea what that is going to look like, but I am absolutely prepared to learn.

With his knees bent, he hops forward while rolling his whole body in a wave finishing the whole move with a pelvic thrust. Watching him is intoxicating. He does it once more before having me try it.

“I feel ridiculous,” I tell him the fourth time I’ve attempted to do the leg roll thing.

“You’re doing fine, Baz. Here, let’s move to something else. We can come back to the leg roll later.” A wide grin spreads across his face, “Grinding next!”

I roll my eyes at him. “That is something I think we can both confirm that I can manage.”

“In a club, yes. But you asked me to teach you to dance like me.”

“Fine. Teach me your ways.”

“Okay, so this time, I want you to keep the same stance but you’re just going to be working with your hips.”

He drops back into his stance, slowly shifting his hips to the left, forward, to the right, and back.

“It’s all about control. And not just about grinding _on_ a person, but about moving in a way that draws their attention. You’re creating a fantasy with your body, without verbal or physical contact.” The entire time he’s speaking, he’s slowly grinding his hips. I’m trying to pay attention to what he’s saying, but his hips are distracting. Although I guess that’s probably the point he’s trying to make.

I nod, and give him my best hip grind. It’s different doing this without being in contact with another person. I’m not terrible, but it’s not quite as easy as I had assumed it would be.

“Not bad. But,”—his brows crease a little before he huffs a laugh—“are you pretending to hula hoop? Don’t get me wrong, your body is amazing and I’m looking. At everything. But right now I should only be focusing on your hips. Here,” he comes up behind me placing his hands on my hips. My heart jumps into my throat at his touch. “Focus your movements here.” He gently moves my hips to the four points he demonstrated earlier. “Try to keep the rest of your body upright, with your arms back behind you.”

He kisses my neck before stepping back. I concentrate on trying not to swoon. “Try again,” he says.

“Are you just going to stay back there?”

“For the moment. The view is kind of doing it for me back here.”

I roll my eyes even though I know he can’t see my face, and continue doing what he told me.

It takes nearly an hour, but he’s given me quite the list of different moves. Some things that I didn’t even know had names. Beyond grinding and body rolls, he’s taught me the worm (essentially, _making love to the floor_ ), chair-y pop (a push-up off the chair where your partner is seated, nearly doing a faceplant into their groin), and helicopter (which is just stripping off your shirt and whipping it in circles above your head.)(That one was easy.)

I’m a sweaty mess after an hour. It doesn’t seem to bother Simon at all. He reaches out, looping his fingers in my belt loops to pull me close. “You should take a break. But you’ve done so well, _mon chou_.” He leans up to kiss me, his tongue parting my lips.

“You don’t look even a little tired.”

“You did most of the work, I didn’t really do much. Besides, this is the kind of work I’m used to. I have the stamina for dancing.”

“That is true, I didn’t see you do much work at all,” I say with a smirk. “You know, you should probably remind me what it looks like when you dance. Since that’s what I was trying to learn. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you dance. In this particular fashion, at least.”

“Have a seat, Pitch, and pay attention.” He queues up _Pour Some Sugar On Me_. I sit back on the couch, letting him dance for me. And only me. This time I’m not afraid of the consequences. I let myself get lost in the sensation of his body under my hands.

* * *

    **Thursday, May 30, 2019**
     **Simon(19:23)** I scored half off beer at the dep!
     **Simon(19:24)** Come over 2morow? Drink n b stupid wit me?
     **Baz(19:26)** What kind of beer?
     **Simon(19:27)**?? LaBatt? Y?
     **Baz(19:28)** Because I don’t sully my delicate palate with garbage
     **Simon(19:29)** Ur so stuck up
     **Simon(19:29)** Come drink n be stupid!
     **Baz(19:30)** I will come over. I may even be a little stupid.
     **Baz(19:30)** But I will bring my own beer
     **Baz(19:30)** I have taste buds
     **Simon(19:31)** Fine. More 4 me. Come over whenver. I’ll make dinner.

* * *

I invited Simon, this time, to one of my favourite night clubs on Sainte-Catherine Street. Ostensibly, it’s no more daring than most of the things we’ve done together. The change is that this nightclub is only three blocks from my apartment building and I would have an easy excuse to invite him to stay over.

I’m thrumming with the possibility of the night.

The music isn’t the best I’ve heard, but I don’t give a flying fuck right now. I’m six drinks in and dancing with Simon. Not well, but I don’t care about that today, either. All I care about, currently, is the spot behind Simon’s ear that I have my mouth on. And the place on his thighs where my hands are resting. _Tabarnak_ , I must be so drunk to be dancing like this.

I can hardly tell how much of this intoxication is the alcohol and how much is just Simon.

“ _Baptême_ , Baz,” Simon breathes. Or maybe he shouts. He turns around to say it. “You’re so fucking hot. You’re doing so well, _mon chou_.” His hand snakes over my shoulder and into my hair, where he clenches his fist.

“Simon,” I moan. The way he moves is a marvel. I didn’t know I could do something like this. I could only do this with him. Our dancing—it’s a wave, a pulse, a crashing river. I’m so glad I had him teach me. It’s made such a difference. His other hand pets over my hip and he pushes his fingers between my shirt buttons to caress my stomach. I swoon into him and bring our lips together for a panting kiss. When I pull away, he has a look in his eye, and he glances over my shoulder. I’m not sober enough to read him.

“Baz.” If he keeps saying my name like that, I may have to fuck him in the washroom. No. Club washrooms are fucking disgusting. I wouldn’t stoop that low even in this state. (Also, we haven’t had sex yet. But, boy, do I want to.) “Baz. There’s someone over there doing body shots.”

“So? Why are you looking at them when you can look at me?”

“Mmm. Good point.” We dance a few minutes longer. “But I was going to offer-” He cuts off to huff when I fasten my lips back on his neck.

“Baz,” he growls, and it’s so hot that I bite down. “ _Crisse de tabarnak!_ ” He huffs for a moment before he finds his words again. “I was going to say I want you to do a body shot off me. Is that something you want, _mon chou_?”

It’s me swearing up a storm this time. I pull his face back to mine and kiss him _hard_. “Please,” I murmur into his mouth.

It only takes a moment for him to take my hand and drag me to the bar, where he manages to acquire two tequila shots, a salt shaker, and two wedges of lime at a frankly incredible speed. Then he’s hurrying over to the clear tables where he apparently saw someone do body shots a minute ago.

He’s wearing a tight white t-shirt, but he rips it off and stuffs it partially into the back pocket of his pants. I can see the waistband of his underwear above his jeans and I can tell from here that they’re the same kind he wore the night first he danced for me (well, for Dev and Niall’s bachelor party). My mind goes offline and the next thing I know, he’s on the table with a lime wedge in his mouth.

It strikes me that I have no idea what to do. Simon takes pity on me and removes the lime from his mouth and-- _Câlisse,_ he sticks his _fingers_ in his mouth instead. I suck in a breath as he sucks on them and pulls them out of his mouth with a pop before wiping his own saliva on his abs a few inches above his navel. I don’t take my eyes off of him for a moment. He shakes some salt onto the line of saliva and holds one of the shot glasses out toward me. I manage to collect enough of my wits to grab it.

“Lick the salt,” he points to the line of salt, “pour the tequila,” he points to his navel and hollows his stomach, “and then you suck the lime from my mouth.” He’s grinning at me when he puts the wedge back in his mouth, fruity pulp facing outward.

I step up to the table and bend slowly, keeping eye contact with him before turning and licking the salt off of him. His abs twitch. I carefully pour the entire shot glass of tequila into his hollowed navel and suck it off him with my tongue, trailing an extra kiss slightly lower before I move to his head and we lock eyes once again. I don’t even have time to taste the alcohol with how consumed I am with _him_.

He’s breathing heavily and his pupils are fucking huge. I lean in and take the lime wedge out of his mouth with my own, our lips brushing as I do. I feel the heat of his breath across my lips and linger at his mouth, the lime between us. I’m fairly sure that Prince is playing in the background and I’m so tempted to listen to his advice and just kiss Simon, but instead I pull back and suck the juice from the lime, smirking at Simon’s frown.

“Baz,” he whines, “can I do one too?” All I can do is nod and stuff my lime wedge into the empty shot glass. The rest of the club has disappeared (this man can make _Prince_ disappear).

It’s as if my body knows exactly what to do as I lay down swiftly on the table, suck in my stomach for Simon, and place the lime wedge between my teeth. He’s much quicker and more masterful than I was. Like he’s done this before. Like he’s done it a lot. Honestly, it’s pretty hot. (Partially because he’s tonguing my abs.) I always love experiencing the things that he’s good at.

Before I know it, he’s at my mouth and he licks at the lime, then pulls back to grin at me, holding the lime wedge between his teeth. He spits the stupid thing onto the table and sings along with the chorus in his sweet, deep voice,

 _“You don't have to be rich to be my girl  
_ _You don't have to be cool to rule my world  
_ _Ain't no particular sign I'm more compatible with  
_ _I just want your extra time and your..._

He punctuates each of the smooches with a peck to my lips and I can’t help but giggle at him. I’m doe-eyed and warm all over with his affection, but I’m far too drunk to care if I look ridiculous.

_“Kiss...”_

He finishes the song and leans back down to take my lips again, quickly turning his head and deepening the kiss. I bring my hand up to thread through his curls and dip my tongue into his mouth. We get lost in this. In each other.

We stumble outside after another round of dancing and I kiss him again, but I think I miss his mouth. We’re laughing and falling into each other

“Simon,” I say, but he’s still giggling in my arms (and he’s still shirtless). “Simon!” I take his face between my hands and look at him with a too-wide smile. “D’you wanna come back to my place?”

He does stop laughing at that, but he kisses me again and says, “yeah, Baz,” into my lips. I hum.

We’re both probably too drunk to do much more than fall into bed together. But I crave that kind of softness with him as much as I want to get more physical. So I lead him home.

* * *

    **Sunday June 1, 2019**
     **Simon(0:24)** BAZ WHERED U GO
     **Baz(0:26)** I was pissing yuo cretin
     **Simon(0:26)** NM I SEE YOU 😘😘😘
     **Baz(1:12)** How are you this cute

* * *

It’s early when I wake the first time, the sun has just started to rise, leaving a pale glow in the room.

Waking to Simon Snow in my bed almost made me believe I was still dreaming. He is beautiful, with his curls a tumbled mess plastered to his forehead. His warm body curled around me, like a personal heater. I vaguely wonder if this is something we can have. Be happy boyfriends who wake in each other’s arms. I desperately hope so. I press a kiss to his temple before drifting back off to sleep.

When I wake again, Simon is gone and the spot he had occupied has gone cold. I feel a pit in my stomach thinking about the reasons why Simon would have left without saying goodbye.

I drag myself from bed, throwing on loungewear before heading to the kitchen to make coffee.

I stop in my tracks. Simon is leaning back against the counter, Timmies in hand. The smile on his face is bright as the sun, immediately eliminating the anxiety and doubt that had begun to creep in when he was no longer in bed.

“You went out without waking me?”

“I knew you’d be asleep for a while longer. You always sleep late, so I thought I’d run out and grab us coffee and Timbits.”

I eye the second cup of coffee on the table. “Double-Double, with a shot of caramel and mocha. Whip on top. I don’t know how you can drink coffee that tastes like a candy bar every morning.”

“Listen,” I say, wrapping my hands around the warm cup and taking a slow sip of what can only be described as ambrosia, “I don’t judge your strange fondness for butter. You don’t get to judge my beverage choices.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs.

We sit at the table side by side, eating our Timbits and chatting idly. My mind keeps drifting back to the one coherent thought I had when I woke in Simon’s arms this morning. Would he commit to being mine? Would he accept me as his?

We haven’t labeled whatever this relationship has become. Are we exclusive? Has he been seeing anybody else? (I don’t think he has, but I don’t want to presume.) Maybe he doesn’t want anything too serious at all.

But I need to know what this is for him. If what we’ve been doing means the same to him as it does for me.

“Simon.” I don’t know how to say what I want. I grip my empty coffee cup a little tighter, turning to face him. I think back to what my mother used to say—I need to light a match in my heart and blow on the tinder. “What is this relationship to you?”

“What d’you mean?” He looks confused, his brow furrowed.

“I mean, us. We’ve never put a name to what we are. And that’s okay if you’re not ready to label what this is between us. But I—”

He pulls me in for a bruising kiss. His mouth tastes of bitter coffee and donuts.

He pulls away too soon. “The name I want is boyfriends, Baz. I want to be your boyfriend.” I’m stunned into silence.

His hand jumps to his hair and he bites his lip. “I didn’t want to push you into committing to me. Knowing what I do for a job, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable dating me. If you felt you could trust me when I’m stripping down to my trunks for strangers every weekend.”

“Simon.” I can’t believe he thought I wouldn’t trust him. “I’ve told you. I don’t judge what you do. I trust that you won’t be going home with those strangers, or letting them do things with you that I have thought about doing in great detail.” He raises his eyebrows at me. (Both of them at once, I wonder if he’s capable of raising just one.)

“So it’s official then?” He’s grinning at me again.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now,” I confirm as I pull his mouth to mine for another kiss. “ _Boyfriend_ ,” I whisper into his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations in this chapter:
> 
>  **French:** (As always, thanks to KrisRix for the help choosing the appropriate phrasing! And a special shout-out to BazzyBelle for answering out of context questions like "Hey, what's your favorite way to say _Fuck Off!_ , but in a playful way?" What we ended up using was a hybrid of her answer and a little addition from Kris)
> 
> Arrêt de niaiser, là - Stop fucking around  
> Mon Chou - a common French pet name, literally meaning "my pastry", which we found _hilarious_ as a name Simon would use for Baz.  
> T’es donc ben niaiseux - you're really stupid  
> osti'd cave - idiot  
> Crisse de tabarnak - Fucking hell  
> Câline - mild form of Câlisse (fuck)  
> Maudit - damn
> 
>  **Italian:** (Continued Thank You to Llamapyjamas for her help with this!)  
> È stato fantastico - That was Amazing!  
> Assolutamente - Absolutely
> 
> The following is the _audio file_ Baz sent to Simon when asked to speak Italian for him. It is a passage from The Divine Comedy by Dante, The Inferno, Canto I: 1-6. Translation found in the quotes section on Goodreads. Translator unknown. 
> 
> _Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita  
>  mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,  
> ché la diritta via era smarrita.  
> Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura  
> esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte  
> che nel pensier rinova la paura!_
> 
> “In the middle of the journey of our life  
> I came to myself within a dark wood  
> where the straight way was lost.  
> Ah, how hard a thing it is to tell  
> what a wild, and rough, and stubborn wood this was,  
> which in my thought renews the fear!”


	4. La Maison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it!! The end of this journey!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments and support over the last couple of months.
> 
> A special and unending **THANK YOU** to [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix) for not only beta-reading, but also ghost writing a _particular_ section of this chapter and checking in with me repeatedly offering support to get this chapter finished. Thank you, Kris! You're brilliant!
> 
> Thank you again to [tbazzsnow (Artescapri)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow) for beta reading this entire fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic [BazzyBelle](http://bazzybelle.tumblr.com/)! We love you so much!!

“What happened?” I shout, a little baffled, as the cloud of flour settles around us. 

Simon is standing there, in my formerly pristine kitchen, holding what is now a mostly empty and slightly torn bag of flour. 

“I—I don’t know! I was just trying to open it when it… it just  _ exploded! _ ”

I’m staring at him, but the look of dismay on his face sends me into a fit of laughter. I can’t control it, the whole situation is so unbelievable. 

“ _ Sei un incubo assoluto _ ,” I collapse into his shoulder, unable to hold back the tears from laughing so hard. “Absolute. Nightmare.”

“Yeah, well.  _ Arrête tes conneries _ . Help me clean this up! I really want to finish making these scones!”

After the flour fiasco, we both take showers. (Separately, so one of us is able to keep an eye on the scones in the oven. Simon might actually cry if we burn them.)

While I’m in the shower, I can’t stop thinking about how smitten I am with Simon Snow. My  _ boyfriend _ . He’s taught me so much about myself already, and we’ve only been together for a little over a month. 

I’ve been wanting to show him everything he’s taught me. He’s worked with me on my dancing a few times now. And I’ve been practising at home, working on a dance routine for him. I think I’m ready. And after our talk this morning about our relationship, I want to give him what he’s given me. (Mostly, fantasies that I think we may be ready to make a reality.)

Thoughts of Simon—his deliciously carved body, broad shoulders, gorgeous fucking forearms—invade my mind. I close my eyes, letting my hand drift down my body. Imagining what it would be like if that hand was Simon’s instead. I wrap my hand around my shaft, working up a steady rhythm. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about him while masturbating, but it’s the first time since it felt like this was a real possibility. Knowing that he’s chosen to be my boyfriend despite the ass I can be. 

It doesn’t take long before I’m spent—my knees weak and my breathing shaky. I finish the rest of my shower quickly, anticipating my dance for him. 

I’m in his lap on the couch, mouthing at every mole I can reach without laying him flat and stripping him down. The thought is incredibly appealing, but I also really want to dance for him. I’ve worked myself up to it, even dressed in the jeans he’s obsessed with and a tight-fitting v-neck. 

“Simon,” I say, moving from his collarbone up to a mole at the base of his neck. 

“Hmm?” The sound of his response vibrates on my lips. 

“I was thinking...” I lick a trail up his neck from the mole I was working at to just below his ear. He rasps a breath, and I smile at the fact that Simon is already coming undone. “I’d really like to dance for you. See if you think my technique has improved under your expert tutelage.” 

His eyes light up brighter than the sun. “ _ Tabarnak!  _ Baz, that would be... Yeah, yes. I’ve thought about you dancing for me since. Well. A long time.”

I take his face in my hands and kiss him, my lips brushing his. Kissing Simon is always good. It feels like it  _ means _ something. 

I pull away from him, queueing up the song I’ve been practising with on my phone. ( _ Freeek! _ by George Michael). 

“Sit back,  _ mon chéri _ . For once, let yourself relax and enjoy the show.”

I step a few paces back, giving myself enough room to begin the dance like he showed me. I can’t just start in his lap, I need to work him up to it, help create the fantasy for him. 

Dancing in front of the mirror while practising always felt so awkward, but dancing  _ for _ Simon feels right. All of my hesitation has evaporated, leaving only the desire to show him exactly what I would like to be doing to him. 

When I strip my shirt off, I make sure to swing it over my head before snaking it around the back of his neck, allowing myself to draw myself to him. I climb into his lap, tossing the shirt aside while grinding down on him. 

His hands are grazing up my torso and gently scratching down my back until they land on my ass. He gives a small squeeze, but I’m already moving out of his lap to turn around and give him a good showing of my backside. I know he enjoys the view at any time and right now I’m working up a fantasy for him. 

By the time the song is ending, I’m back in his lap, but I’m not really dancing for him any longer. My fingers are buried in his thick curls, his hands roaming over my thighs. So close to where I’d really like them to be.

Even though I’m the one on top of him, Simon somehow has still managed to take control of the situation. I could die kissing Simon Snow, exploring every bit of his mouth. He wraps his lips around my tongue, gently sucking. I gasp, overwhelmed by thoughts of Simon sucking on me—thoughts of all the ways I would like to return the favour.

I have to pull away, completely breathless after the workout from dancing and being worked up by the menace beneath me.

As we catch our breath together, I shift further into his lap. I can feel his erection, and I’m sure he can feel mine. I undulate my hips like I did when I was dancing for him, and we both groan.

“God, Baz. That’s so fucking hot. I don’t even.  _ Baptême _ .” His inability to speak full sentences is encouraging, so I grind into him again. 

“ _ Tabarnak _ ,” I say, “Simon...”

“So hot,” he growls and places two hands on my ass, grinding us together even more firmly.

“Simon, can I?” I ask, moving a hand down his chest and to the front of his sweatpants. He nods at me frantically.  _ Breathlessly. _

“Yeah. Please.  _ Anything, Baz. _ ”

I stroke him once through his pants, which he clearly likes, judging from the completely pornographic noise he makes. I haven’t touched him there before this. I’m starkly aware of the newness of this for us. But we’re boyfriends now and I’ve wanted him like this for months.

As I slide off his lap and onto my knees on the floor, he opens his eyes and lets loose a sound of complaint at the loss of contact. But then his eyes find mine between his legs. His pupils dilate and he groans again before letting loose an absolutely filthy string of multi-lingual curses. 

“Shut up, you heathen,” I say into his inner thigh, but I can’t keep the smile from my voice. “You act as if you’ve never had someone on their knees for you.” I slide my hands from his knees, up his legs to the waistband of his pants. 

“Doesn’t matter, Baz,” he says, bringing a hand up to comb through my hair. I lean into his palm and my lips find his pulse. “None of them were  _ you _ .” I’m so pleased by this that I hum and smile at him.

I hook my thumbs under his waistband and stroke across his hips. I can’t help but notice that there isn’t anything beneath his sweatpants. I look up at Simon and raise one eyebrow.

“What?” 

“Do you frequently go without underpants, Simon?” I slide my hands further into his pants and begin to push them down over his ass. I take my time with it. This is my first time touching him here skin-to-skin. I want to savour the feeling of it. I have to appropriately appreciate every part of him.

He huffs a laugh and strokes one hand through my hair again. It feels unfairly good. 

“I was...” He pauses and bites his lip, blushing. I’m quite glad I had the forethought to get off in the shower. If I hadn’t, I’d be dangerously hard already and I have yet to undress him. Even so,  my jeans are growing snugger by the minute. “I was kind of hoping we would get to this tonight. But I do occasionally free-ball at home.”

“You’re disgusting, Simon,” I say fondly, as I press a kiss to the inside of his knee and finish pulling off his pants so I can finally see him.

I lick my lips at the sight. He’s resting thick and heavy against his hip, flushed with desire. 

I’ve thought about this, what he might look like. I’ve been tormented with the teasing shapes of him in his briefs so many times. Finally having him exposed and fully erect in front of me is far better than anything I could dream up. I can’t resist taking him into my hand immediately—he’s  _ so warm _ —and I give my lips another wet lick in preparation.

I’ve given blow jobs before. To rave reviews, actually. But rarely were the reviews and the blow job concurrent; Simon cannot stop complimenting me. I don’t expect to love it as much as I do.

I take his head into my mouth to his whimper of “ _Crisse,_ how are your lips so perfect, Baz?”

I work myself down his shaft, sucking and laving, to a chorus of “ _yes,_ ” and “ _good,_ ” and “ _so hot, Baz.”_

I wrap a steadying hand around his base and flick my tongue to his cry of “ _ Baptême,  _ your mouth is _ sinful, mon chou. _ ”

When I lift a hand to caress his balls and stroke the pad of my finger behind them: “ _ Oh yes! _ There, Baz. That’s  _ so good. _ ”

All the while, he combs his fingers through my hair, not forcing my head forward, but instead gently scratching at my scalp. It feels so good, I can’t help but moan around him, which only provokes a moan in return.

His clear pleasure is intoxicating. I meet his gaze through my lashes and see his eyes glazed and pupils dilated. “Oh Baz,” he runs a thumb over my temple and down my cheek, “your eyes are so beautiful. I’ve always loved them.” I can’t respond with him in my mouth, but I moan again and suck further along his shaft, feeling him hit the back of my throat just as it vibrates with the sound of my response. 

His eyes roll back. “ _ Fuck,  _ Baz! I’m so close. Keep going.” His anglophone swearing is a sign of his incoherence, I think, and he loses all ability to form sentences. Instead, he encourages me with moans and a gentle tug of my hair.

I find a rhythm of sucking and licking and increase the pressure of my fingers on his taint. 

His growls and moans are positively melodic. His head is thrown back and his chest is rising and falling quickly with his breath. I want to see him like this  _ every day. _

Before he comes, he tugs carefully on my hair and attempts to say my name. In response, I double down, relaxing my throat to finally swallow his tip, moaning around it. 

His abs clench and tremble when his orgasm hits, and he folds at the waist. The sound of his groan is loud and garbled and unhinged and perfect. I catch every drop of his come. 

When he finally stops twitching in my mouth, he sits back on the couch again and looks down at me through half-lidded eyes. I pull off of him slowly, licking up him as he shivers with sensitivity. 

“So fucking hot,  _ mon chou _ ,” he whispers. 

I climb into his lap and lean forward to kiss him, a little hesitant. Not everyone is wild about the flavour of their own come. I rest my forehead on his and meet his lips with a light brush of my own. His response is hazy and slow at first, but he presses forward into me and makes a noise of complaint when I pull back. Without opening his eyes, he pulls me back toward him, back into the kiss, and slips his tongue lazily between my lips. He keeps making these lovely soft sounds, and I can’t resist melting into him and returning his kiss with equal depth.

When I pull back to look at his face, his smile is dopey and his lips are pink and wet.  _ Crisse,  _ I’d like those lips on _ me _ . 

“Baz,  _ mon chou _ ...” He trails off, frowning and sniffing the air. “ _ Mon chou,  _ my scones!”

He dumps me (still hard and now a little frustrated) off his lap and onto the couch, then races naked to the kitchen.

“Don’t burn your dick off,” I shout after him. There’s only the clanging of metal sheet pans in response. I try not to pout about my abandonment. I wish we hadn’t included baking in tonight’s date plans. 

Simon peeks his head back around the corner far faster than I expect. I thought I’d lost him to scones for the night, but he walks back in looking a bit guilty. Maybe I haven’t hidden my pout as well as I had planned.

“I’m sorry, Baz. I didn’t mean to abandon you right after. But I cannot abide burned scones.” He extends a hand to me. “Don’t worry, though, I thought we could shower again while we wait for them to cool.” I haven’t taken his hand yet, but he’s staring at me with the sweetest puppy eyes, and it’s nearly painful to resist. “Join me,  _ mon chou _ ? I think there’re a few things I can do for  _ you _ .”

I give into him. Of course I do. 

I’m already shirtless, but as soon as he pulls me up off the couch, he dives a hand straight to my fly.

I press up into his hand and he laughs in satisfaction.

“You are too fucking cute for your own good, Simon.”

“And you,” he teases while he pulls down my zipper, “are far too hard for your own good.”

I grumble and help him push down my painfully tight jeans. “Whose fault is that?”

“I know,  _ cherie _ , I’m sorry.” The way he says it, as he covers my neck and shoulder in kisses, makes me think he’s not sorry at all. It’s difficult to care though, given his hands and mouth are now finally on me. Though not where I  _ need _ .

Simon leans down, trailing kisses over my chest, stomach… He squats before me and nibbles just above the waistband of my briefs as his rough hands drag my jeans down to my ankles. Feeling his skin against my bare thighs is already enough to make me groan. A whole tumble of curses falls out of me when Simon drags his mouth over the bulge in my briefs. I can feel his hot breath through the fabric—it’s driving me mad.

Before I can press my hands into his curls to urge him on, Simon yanks down my underwear with little finesse.

“Brute,” I huff.

Simon gives my cock a long once-over, licking his lips. I hold my breath in anticipation.

And then he’s standing back up and slipping away from me, grinning cheekily. “Come on, shower!”

He’s going to be the death of me—but not until I end him, first.

In my previous relationships, showering with someone else has always proven to be sexier in my fantasies than in practice. It’s different with Simon. Perhaps because this is our first time naked together. Or because I’ve developed a Pavlovian response to the sight of Simon with his skin glistening with moisture from all his sinful, sweaty dancing.

Simon makes good on his word to pleasure me as we shower, though he certainly doesn’t let up on the teasing aspect. He rubs me all over, exploring my body under the disguise of helping me clean. Piece by piece, he kisses each spot dutifully after the soap suds are rinsed away.

I complain about the torture because I’m an interminable ass to him, and yet Simon— _ Crisse _ —he takes it all with grins and laughter and nips at my skin, and he returns it all with proclamations of how gorgeous he finds me. He’s nearly abandoned touching me between the legs, and yet I’m left trembling, leaning against the cold tiles for support.

“Snow, Simon,  _ tabarnak _ , please, I can’t—”

He kisses me deeply against the wall. I sink my fingers into his wet curls, holding on as he finally takes my cock in his hand. I moan into his mouth, and he strokes me, tight. He does this wonderful thing with his wrist where he swivels his grip on the upstroke, and it’s doing unspeakable things to me.

Simon sucks on my tongue, drawing a wild noise out of me. I’m reminded of how much I want him sucking on my cock. Oh, but his hands are unfairly good.  _ Mon dieu _ . He sneaks his other hand between my thighs to palm my balls, and my knees nearly give out.

To my embarrassment, I whine in protest when Simon breaks the kiss with a chuckle. “Are you going to collapse from a handjob?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and thunk my head back against the wall. I hope he can’t tell how hard I’m blushing. “It’s been a while,” I defend. “And… it’s different, with you. Everything is so different.”

“Oh,  _ Baz _ .” Simon kisses me again, hard and breathless, sliding the hand on my balls up my body and into my hair. “I want to suck you,” he says into my mouth. “That okay?”

“What a stupid question,” I groan. But then I give my head a shake and press his shoulders. “Not here, though. Kneeling in a shower is the worst.”

Simon laughs. “I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

Once we’re haphazardly towelled off, Simon lies between my spread legs on my bed and renders me absolutely mindless with a sloppy-yet-charming blowjob. I’m suddenly extremely grateful for his voracious appetite and poor table manners; they’ve proven remarkably beneficial. 

“So, the dance wasn’t terrible?” I ask, curling into Simon’s side, burying my face into his neck. Breathing him in. He wraps an arm around me lazily, tracing shapes onto my skin with a gentle touch. 

I may not approach his level of professional in the dance realm, but I’m observant enough to be able to recognise my own improvement since we first started going out together. 

“You’re exceptional, Baz. You could make some serious money if you wanted to put those skills to work.” I raise my eyebrow at him. I’m not  _ that  _ good. “I’m serious. You could, if you wanted to. We have patrons at my club that would lose their minds with you.”

“ _ Ta geule _ .”

He kisses my nose. “I’m serious. But you know what’s even more serious?” 

“What?”

“Scones. We made scones, and I haven’t had any yet.”

“You really are a nightmare,” I tell him, but I slide my hands around his waist and march him out the bedroom door toward the kitchen.

“Ahh, but it seems you are rather fond of nightmares.”

“ _ Solo te _ . Only one.”

* * *

**Wednesday, June 5, 2019**

**Simon(23:43)** BAZ

**Simon(23:43)** HELP! 🆘️! MAYDAY!

**Simon(23:44)** SRSLY! I NEED U

**Baz(23:44)** What’s going on? Did something happen?

**Baz(23:45)** Do I need to come get you? Where are you?

**Simon(23:46)** THERE’S A BAT IN MY BEDROOM🦇

**Baz(23:47)** …

**Baz(23:47)** No. You did not just scream SOS at me for a bat

**Simon(23:48)** IT’S A BAT BAZ!!!

**Simon(23:48)** What if it’s an evil vampire? N sucks my blood??

**Baz(23:49)** It is neither of those things. Call your building super. Or make Penny deal with it.

**Simon(23:50)** Pennys not here 😫

**Simon(23:50)** I call the super. He said he’d b over tomorrow. To shut the door and sleep on the couch. 

**Baz(23:50)** So do that

**Simon(23:51)** You don’t even care if im turned into a vamp🧛♂️

**Simon(23:52)** Do you want a vampy boyf?

**Baz(23:53)** If it means I get sleep? Yes.

**Simon(23:54) 😭😭😭😭** 🧛♂️

**Baz(23:55)** RIP

**Baz(23:56)** For real though, just sleep on the couch. You’ll be fine.

* * *

I meet him at Fairmount Bagel on a dreary Saturday morning. So often, our dates are about heat and movement and dancing. Sometimes it’s good to break it up with mundanity.

Despite the fact that Simon decided on a monstrosity of a breakfast sandwich on an all-dressed bagel to my simple pumpernickel with cream cheese, he finishes his fare before I’m even halfway through, so he’s talking at me a mile a minute as we walk along the street toward his apartment. I like that he’s comfortable enough to talk with me like this now. Words aren’t usually his strong suit. 

I think he’s going on about his recent trip to America with Bunce, but I’m hardly following him at the moment. I’ve been distracted by how cute he looks when he’s excited.

“...So anyway,” he continues, “we mostly stayed in DC where professor Bunce was doing her lectures, but then Penny really wanted to see some of the pieces in the Walter’s Museum in Baltimore and it was only an hour away.

“So I was like, ‘Fine. As long as we go to a museum I like, too.’ And then she was like, ‘sure where do you want to go, Simon.’ And I was so excited because there’s a really good cryptological museum in Baltimore—”

I interrupt him here. “Wait. Snow. Cryptological. Like mythical animals? You’re such a Mulder. I should have known.”

He flushes beautifully. “ _ Ta geule _ , Baz! It was a cool museum. Way cooler than the art one Penny picked! Actually, I think Penny liked it, too. She is dating Shep, after all. That’s basically his whole thing. Cryptozoology. And storm chasing, I guess, weird blizzard-man that he is.

“Anyway, though, on the way back, I was Penny’s navigator. And I had to  _ look  _ at  _ Maryland _ .” He makes a weird  _ ugh _ sound after the word Maryland. “It’s shaped so weird! Who the fuck would make a state like that? It’s got this weird skinny leg that’s only the width of a highway with Virginia interrupting it like it got shit out by a bird.” He splats one hand against the other to demonstrate. “What’s that about? Why do Americans get off on making their states so wonky looking?”

I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Soon enough, he’s laughing along with me. We just stand, holding each other for support, laughing and blocking the sidewalk. I can’t imagine anything better.

* * *

**Monday, June 10, 2019**

**Baz(10:03)** What are you up to?

**Simon(10:04)** Watching Avatar

**Baz(10:06)** The movie with the blue aliens?

**Simon(10:07)** last airbender 

**Simon(10:07)** Zuko kinda reminds me of u

**Baz(10:09)** Why is that?

**Simon(10:10)** I dunno. Hes tall, dark, and handsome? 

**Simon(10:11)** kinda broody and dramatic… and hes a fire wielder. U have a lot of fire in u 😏🔥

**Baz(10:12)** I’m not responding to that

**Simon(10:13)** fine. But im not wrong.

**Baz(10:13)** If you say so. 

**Baz(10:14)** I have to get ready for practice. I’ll text you later? Make plans to go out tomorrow?

**Simon(10:15)** I’d love to! Whatever u want to do.

**Simon(10:16)** have fun!! 🏒💖

* * *

“You have to order in Italian,” Simon whispers to me, as if it’s a great secret that he’s trusting me with. 

I raise an eyebrow at him. “I really don’t.”

“C’mon Baz. Please? We’re at an  _ Italian _ restaurant—in Little  _ Italy. _ ” He’s staring at me with a look of anticipation. As if I’ll suddenly realize that he’s right and Italian is the only way to order our dinner here. 

“You are aware that the menu is in  _ French _ ? You could order for yourself in English or French just as easily as I could order in Italian.”

“ _ Or, _ ” he says very slowly, elongating a two-letter word much longer than it deserves to be, “you could order in Italian. Impress your boyfriend because you know how he feels when you show off. And see what that earns you after we get back to your place.”

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Simon Snow is going to be the death of me. 

After we’ve ordered (pizza margherita, in Italian, because who am I to deny Simon such a request?), we fall into easy conversation. 

“Do you have any siblings?” he asks. There is still so much we have to learn about each other. So far we’ve mostly discussed what makes us happy, our aspirations, the things that make us tick. But we’ve never discussed the big stuff—our lives growing up or family life. I know that he grew up in the care system and that he doesn’t like to discuss it. I’ve never pushed. 

“I do.” I can feel a fond smile tugging at the corners of my lips. I’ve always been fond of my younger siblings, even though I’ve not been home enough to know them as well as I’d like. “Three sisters and a brother. All younger than me, by quite a bit.”

“Do you all look alike?” He has a slight smile on his face, but his eyes look almost sad. I wonder if thinking about having a large family is painful, when he grew up alone. 

“They all look very similar—dark brown hair, round cheeks, big innocent eyes. They look more like my step-mother. I take after my mother.”

“Oh,” he trails off. “I didn’t know your parents weren’t together.”

“Yes, well. I don’t often talk about my family too much.” I take a breath, looking down at my hands. “My mother died when I was five. Father remarried a few years later. Daphne has always treated me as her own, even when I didn’t want her love.  _ Especially  _ when I didn’t want her love.” I glance up at Simon, the look of silent understanding written across his face. 

“I’m really sorry, Baz.” He reaches across the table and takes my hands in his. “I know it’s not the same, I never knew my parents so I never had people to miss. But I can at least understand how it feels to be missing a part of your identity.” 

“I’m sorry you never had a chance to know your family. I have hard days sometimes, where I miss her so much it hurts. But I’m still very fortunate. My parents do their best.”

He watches me for another moment before shaking his head, looking like he’s trying to banish some thought from his mind. 

“Well, aren’t we a sad pair?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Tell me more about your siblings.”

I tell him about manipulative mastermind Mordelia, who is eleven now and starting her first year at boarding school in the fall. The twins, who are seven, and think it's hilarious to pretend to be each other. (Their teachers were not impressed when Olivia took both of their math tests through careful manoeuvring.) And my only brother, the baby of our family, who lives and breathes hockey. 

Simon’s eyes are bright, hanging on every story I tell him about the troublemakers I call family. 

“Do you think we can babysit sometime? I never get to play with little kids anymore now that I’m out of the homes,” he slurs his statement around a slice of pizza. The way he eats is a tragedy, yet I can’t look away. “I hated kids my age, home kids are rough. Always fighting and stealing whatever they could get their hands on without getting caught. I preferred spending time with the littler ones, making sure they knew they weren’t alone.”

“I think Daphne would be thrilled if I asked her and father to take a night off. Of course, I think we should probably plan to introduce you to my family first.”

His face falls, like this nightmare hadn’t actually considered the necessity to  _ meet my parents _ before babysitting my siblings. 

“Oh. Right. I uhh—” He dissolves into a mess of incoherent noises and incomplete sentences.

“It’s alright, Simon.” I take his unoccupied hand in mine, rubbing it soothingly with my thumb. “When we’re ready, I’d like you to meet them. And then we can discuss babysitting with Daphne.”

“Yeah, alright.” He looks both relieved and a little sad. Someday soon I’ll make a point of bringing him home to meet the Grimms. 

* * *

**Wednesday, June 12, 2019**

**Baz(21:03):** Text me when you get home

**Simon(23:18):** What a long night. Finally home. 

**Baz(23:21):** You’re pretty late. What happened?

**Simon(23:22):** Marc-Alexandre called in sick so i had 2 stay over for part of second shift

**Baz(23:22):** I’m sorry, love. Do you want to talk or are you just going to go to bed?

**Simon(23:23):** Probably bed in a few… im drained

**Simon(23:23):** will you talk to me a bit until I can fall asleep?

**Baz(23:24):** Sure. Anything you want

**Simon(23:25):** can we ask questions again? U know. Like we used to

**Baz(23:26):** Yeah, we can do that. You want to go first?

**Simon(23:27):** Who is your favourite musician?

**Baz(23:28):** Kishi Bashi. It drives Daphne crazy when I play his music, but I love it. 

**Baz(23:28):** Also Wham! But only because my mother was a fiend for them.

**Baz(23:29):** What is your favourite sport to play?

**Simon(23:30):** Rugby. It was one I could play even moving from homes as much as I did. 

**Simon(23:31):** What is one of your pet peeves?

**Baz(23:32):** People who dog-ear books. 

**Baz(23:32):** Just get a bookmark! It’s not hard. 

**Baz(23:32):** A receipt would do.

**Simon(23:33):** Do u need a minute? U good?

**Baz(23:33):** Yes. Sorry. 

**Simon(23:34):** Last question?

**Simon(23:34):** im falling asleep

**Baz(23:34):** Okay

**Baz(23:35):** What should I wear to bed?

**Simon(23:36):** nothing

**Baz(23:36):** Not a chance, you animal. Purple or green?

**Simon(23:37):** Purple. Always purple. 

**Baz(23:37):** Purple it is

**Baz(23:38):** Sleep well,  _ mon cherie _

**Simon(23:40):** i’ll dream of u

**Simon(23:40):** goodnight  _ mon chou_

* * *

_  
_

We’ve been watching  _ The Great Canadian Baking Show  _ together for most of the night. But Simon has been distracted, biting his lip and trying to sneak furtive glances at me. I know something is on his mind. I wish he would just say whatever it is, but I know it takes him time to work out the words he wants to say.

“Simon.” I take his hand in mine. “You’ve been quiet all night. Well, as quiet as you can usually manage,” I add with a smirk. I don’t know what’s going on in his head, but something has him holding back. It makes me feel uneasy. “Would you like to tell me what you’re thinking?”

He caresses the back of my knuckles with his thumb. “Well, I have a gig scheduled this weekend. A big one.”

“Okay.” I’m not sure why a gig would make him hesitant like this. “You have at least one gig every weekend. That’s nothing new.”

“Right. Well… this gig they asked for a stripper duo. But we’re pretty overbooked this weekend.” He shifts his body, his knee bouncing. I haven’t seen him fidget this much around me since the night of the bachelor party. “Summers are busy, with so many weddings and grad parties for private gigs. Plus the club is busy with the tourist season.”

“Okay, so what is your concern? You’re obviously worried about something.”

He looks up at me, blinking a few times. “Well, we’re overbooked. So I was asked if I knew anybody who would be willing to work with me off the books.” He looks down into his lap, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Compensation would be generous.” 

I look at him curiously. I’m fairly sure he’s trying (and failing) to ask me. “Have you found somebody to dance with you yet?”

“Dunno, haven’t actually asked him yet.” Something in his eyes makes my chest feel tight. I never actually considered dancing for anyone other than Simon. 

I take his hands in mine and climb into his lap. “You should ask him.”

“Baz.” He squeezes my hand, a smile ghosting his lips. “Can you give me Dev’s coordinates? I need to ask him if he has plans Saturday night.”

“You jerk! Are you kidding me right now??” I throw my hands up in the air in complete disbelief. 

“I’m kidding!” He laughs, pulling me close to kiss the tip of my nose. “Baz, would you be willing to work with me as a dancer at a bachelor party?”

“I don’t know now!”

“Oh, don’t pout,” he says, placing a chaste kiss to my lips. “You know I wouldn’t ask Dev.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Do over. Ask me again.”

“Baz,  _ mon chou _ , as you know, I need to find a partner to dance at a gig with me. Would you be willing to work with me at the party?”

I give him a sarcastic half-smile. “Yes, Simon. I will. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“Can I ask you something?” I’m leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom, watching him read a webcomic on his phone. I love it when he spends the night—looking so comfortable and at ease in my bed.

He looks up with a soft smile when he sees me. “Anything.”

“Why were you so nervous to ask me about the gig?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, putting his phone down. “I guess I just. Didn’t want you to be disgusted with the idea? With me for wanting to ask.”

“Simon.” I cross the room and sit on the bed next to him. “You know I don’t have a problem with you dancing. I’ve never been disgusted with that part of your life.”

“I know.” He picks at the edges of the comforter. I hate that he’s started fidgeting again, I want him to know that he’s safe here with me. “I just... I worry, you know? That one day you’ll change your mind. That you won’t want to deal with this anymore. I thought maybe asking you would be crossing a line.”

I reach out to take his hands in mine. “Simon Snow, I choose you. Every part of you. I won’t change my mind.”

He reaches up, grabbing hold of the collar of my nightshirt, and pulls me down to him. He does it all so quick and smooth, I hardly have time to register what’s happening before I find myself on my back, pinned down by this menace. 

He leans down, his mouth pressed to mine. “Just so you know, I  _ am _ looking forward to working with you.” His teeth lightly graze my jaw. “Seeing those eyes hungry for you as you dance, knowing only I get to have you at the end of the night.” A nibble on my ear makes my breath catch. “You’ve learned so much during our lessons. I was serious when I told you that you could make good money dancing.” 

He suddenly sits back, looking down at me. I make a pathetic whine at how far away he suddenly is. “If you need to back out, tell me. You don’t need to explain. I don’t want you to do anything if you’re not ready.”

“Alright. But I don’t think I will change my mind. I want to do this—with you. Now if you don’t mind, you were in the middle of something that I’d very much like to get back to.” I buck my hips up, connecting with his thigh. 

* * *

**Friday, June 14, 2019**

**Baz(23:33)** ma già volgeva il mio disio e ’l velle   
sì come rota ch’igualmente è mossa,   
l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.

**Simon(22:33)** 👀

**Simon(22:33)** Whats that?

**Baz(22:35)** From Paradiso... “But my desire and will were moved already—   
like a wheel revolving uniformly—by   
the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.”

**Simon(22:36)** What desire is that baz? 

**Simon(22:36)** please be detailed

**Baz(22:37)** You’re a menace

**Simon(22:37)** Tell me urs and I’ll tell u mine

**Baz(22:39)** I desire to learn how to draw out every debauched noise from your lips.    
Learn the ways to cause you to come undone under my touch.    
The ways to put you back together after I’ve wrung every pleasure from your body.

**Baz(22:39)** Crisse d'câlice d'tabarnak d'sacrament

**Baz(22:40)** Don’t read that. I didn’t mean to actually send it.

**Simon(22:40)** DFSLFERKO

**Simon(22:40) 🔥😳😳😳🔥**

**Simon(22:41)** Baz

**Simon(22:41) <missed call>**

**Simon(22:41)** Don’t b embarrassed please. Pick up.

**Simon(22:42)** Its my turn to tell you mine

**Simon(22:42) <incoming call>**

* * *

We pull up to the hotel in my Jag. I look Simon up and down one more time before we walk through the revolving doors, heading up to the penthouse suite. The whole situation feels very surreal—it wasn’t very long ago that I had come to this very same hotel with Dev and Niall to host their bachelor party. Only a few months since Niall paid Simon to give me the lapdance that would seal our fates. I’ll never admit it to Niall, but I’ve never been so grateful for his interference in my personal affairs. 

Simon is dressed in his trademark purple; I’m in a deep shimmering green. (It's so dark, it’s nearly black.) The tearaways the agency came up with for me didn’t fit perfectly, but with the bit of alteration I did last night, I’m confident the party guests will be pleased.

“Are you absolutely sure about this? You can still back out,” Simon asks as we’re waiting for the elevator to be called down. His eyebrows are pulled together in a look of concern. 

I quirk a smile at him, trying to ease his anxiety. “Are you worried I’ll steal your spotlight?”

“Only worried I’ll have to pull out all of my best moves to keep up with you.” He leans over to give me a quick kiss. “But if you get uncomfortable, you don’t need to finish out the night.”

“That wouldn’t be very professional, Snow.” I roll my eyes at him, “I couldn’t have you getting in trouble at work for recommending a novice.”

“I don’t care. I’ll handle it. They didn’t have the staffing—that’s on them.”

“I’ll be fine.” I lean into him, our mouths inches apart, “I know what I’m getting into. Believe it or not, I’ve hosted a party that had a stripper before. I just hope I do a better job than the stripper I had hired for that party.”

He laughs, the heat of his breath ghosting across my lips. “I bet he didn’t get any complaints.” 

“He was a little too forward, quite unprofessional,” I murmur. “Asked me to call him if I wanted to go out sometime.”

“Probably worked out in his favour,” he smirks at me. 

“Probably.” I close the distance between us, my lips brushing his gently. A chaste kiss, knowing I don’t want to get myself worked up right before going into a party where I’ll be stripping out of my clothes. 

A thought comes to me, and I really hope Simon will be up for it. “I have an idea. Would you care to make a wager about how tonight is going to go?”

He pulls back and looks at me suspiciously. “What are you plotting?”

“I’m not  _ plotting _ . I’m simply suggesting a game of sorts.”

“I’m listening,” he says.

“I bet that I can collect more tips than you do tonight.” I watch him, waiting for his reaction. 

He shakes his head at me in disbelief. “Not gonna happen, Pitch.” The elevator doors slide open, and we both step in. Simon has a devilish grin on his face. “But you’re on. What are we wagering?”

“If I win,” I say with cool confidence, “you’ll let me take you to the new Montréal à l'italienne exhibit at Pointe-à-Callière.”

“Fine.” He crosses his arms like he’s about to pout, but I can see him holding back a smile. “But if I win you’ll be subjected to spending a full day with me baking and watching T _ he Great Canadian Baking Show _ without complaint.”

I nod at him in agreement. “It’s settled then. I hope you’re ready to work for it.” 

Simon glances at me from across the ornate hotel room. He lifts his eyebrows as he blows me a kiss. He’s an absolute idiot—one that I am completely besotted with. 

The night has gone off without a hitch, Simon and I working on opposite ends of the large room. Despite our bet, I start out slightly hesitant, unsure how to dance for a group of strangers. But knowing that Simon was right across the room—seeing him perform in the seductive way that clearly had the party’s guests seeking his attention—allowed me to ease into my own performance. Having hands on my nearly naked body, strangers tucking bills into the waistband of my trunks, is exactly the motivator I needed to give this my all. Thinking about my bet with Simon also helps. 

Occasionally I’ll look over to feast my eyes on Simon as he leans into his performance, feeding off the crowd around him. I wish I could sit back and just watch him. 

When I take my ten minute break, I do just that, watching him with a cheeky grin between sips of water. He’s absolutely magnificent when he dances. 

I’m anxious for the night to be over, not because I’m not enjoying the gig, but because I’m anticipating a long night alone with him once we get back to my place. 

After the last song has finished and we’ve collected our gear, we head back down to the Jag. 

We’re driving for a few minutes before either of us speaks. 

“You did so well tonight,  _ mon chou _ ,” Simon says, reaching over to rub my leg. “I knew you’d do great.”

“Of course I did,” I say with an air of confidence I certainly didn’t feel when the night had begun. “I’m a Pitch.”

If his hand moves much higher, I’ve already determined I will have no choice but to pull the car over and kiss him stupid. 

“Would you do it with me again?”

I reach one hand down to take his rather than letting him continue to grope my leg the way he is. We’re only a few kilometers from my apartment. I’m determined to make it home before I do something in this car that I’ll regret. 

“I could probably fit another gig in my schedule.” I lift his hand to my mouth to kiss his knuckles. 

“Okay, Pitch. Count up your tips,” Simon says as soon as I cut the engine in front of my building.

“You want to do this now—before we’ve even gotten upstairs?” 

“I have a list in my head of things I want to do the moment we open your door. Counting money is not one of them.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. I can only hope his list includes some of the same indecent things that my list does. 

After a minute of counting under the dome light of the car, Simon turns to me. 

“261 bucks,” he says. 

“Not bad.”

“Of course it’s not bad for a couple hours of work. What’s yours?”

“253 dollars” I’m not shocked that he collected more tips than I did—he is a professional after all. But I am surprised that I came as close as I did to matching him on my first night.

“Not too shabby,” he tells me. “But I think you can do better next time. With a little more practice.”

“Do you think I need another lesson tonight?” 

“Might not hurt,” he says with a fire in his eyes. “Now let’s get upstairs. I want to show you all the things I would have liked to have done with you after I danced for you that first time.”

I lead him up to my apartment, eager to live out the fantasies that those party guests could only dream of.

* * *

**Friday June 21, 2019**

**Baz(09:17)** Happy Birthday! 

**Baz(09:17)** Felicitations! Bon Anniversaire! 

**Baz(09:17)** Auguri! Buon Compleanno!

**Baz(09:18)** Just a hint at what you have to look forward to when you come over later. 

**Baz(09:18)** _< img sent>_

  
_  
Bonus content:  
_

**Simon(09:21)** _< img sent>_

**Baz(09:22)** Simon... what

**Simon(09:22)** See! U r zuko

**Simon(09:22)** Very hot. Want to lick u

**Author's Note:**

> Give [BazzyBelle](http://bazzybelle.tumblr.com/) a Birthday wish in the comments! We dare you!! And while you're at it, go give some of her [amazing writing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazzyBelle/pseuds/BazzyBelle) a read! 
> 
> Join [Foolofabookwyrm](http://foolofabookwyrm.tumblr.com/) and [HufflePunky](http://hufflepunky.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> We scream in the tags.


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